


Dewiniaeth

by claire_debonair



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-24
Updated: 2008-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-07 20:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claire_debonair/pseuds/claire_debonair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nimueh is set on destroying the Pendragons, yet again. They do say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, after all, and this time it's Merlin who bears the brunt of her scheming. Fairy tale princess he is <i>not</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dewiniaeth

**Author's Note:**

> _Thanks to caedesdeo, who did another prompt, accurate and thorough beta job with this, and who didn't tell me to shove off when I emailed her every one of the corrections I made after she sent me it back. Also for reminding me six times about the sugar._

In retrospect, going collecting herbs and other assorted plants in one of the more isolated parts of the forest with only Gwen for company was a bad idea. Going on to investigate an even darker hollow without Gwen was an even worse idea, but as Arthur constantly reminds him, Merlin frequently forgets to make the distinction between good and bad ideas. 

Which is probably why he ends up curled into a ball on the forest floor, body racked with pain and wishing he could get even the barest ounce of control back so he could blast the sorceress currently standing over him with a cruel smile on her lips. Nimueh is, if possible, even more set on killing him this time around, although it does cross Merlin's mind, in between all the whimpering and wishing he'd never agreed to work for Gaius, why she hasn't just finished him off.

Then she starts to talk, and _of course_ she's going to explain while he can barely hear through the rushing in his ears.

He catches something about destiny, and manages a groan at hearing the damned word again. It's starting to lose all meaning, what with the amount of times the dragon booms it at him during their incredibly confusing chats. Then she says something about Arthur, which makes Merlin try even harder to break whatever spell she's cast this time, but it's still impossible.

He hears Gwen shouting his name, drawing Nimueh's attention long enough for her hold to weaken the barest amount. Gwen comes crashing through the trees, heedless of the danger, and drops to her knees by Merlin's side.

Merlin tries to croak out a warning, but he's too weak to make anything other than a sound which may or may not be Gwen's name, and gesture roughly in the direction of the sorceress. Worryingly, Nimueh isn't doing anything, is merely watching with the same cruel smile twisting her mouth.

"Wha—" Merlin coughs harshly and tries again, "what the hell?" Okay, so it's not elegant, or even particularly clear, but it'll do. Nimueh watches him silently for a moment. Just as he's about to think sod it and give into the darkness pressing against the edges of his eyes, she speaks.

"If you want to be yourself again, young warlock, it is simple. You will have to lie with a man." Merlin knows that word, he really does, but it makes no sense. Gwen makes a small, choked off sound behind him and Nimueh's smile gets wider. "And I think we both know who that will have to be, don't we."

She raises her arms and the wind starts to swirl around them, unnatural in its speed and intensity, the way it focuses on Nimueh and leaves Merlin and Gwen alone, for the most part. Nimueh's form begins to shift and waver; Merlin tries desperately to reach his magic, to stop her before she escapes _again_, but he can't.

"Do this for me and you might even live." Her words reach him through the windstorm, their tone mocking. "Of course, I can't say the same for him."

Her laughter echoes around the hollow as the wind suddenly drops, and with it goes the spell binding Merlin. Magic snaps back into his body, the rush helping clear his head. He pushes himself up onto his hands and takes a deep breath, fervently wishing he'd never set foot in the blasted forest. "Gwen? Are you alright?"

"Am _I_ alright?" She sounds slightly hysterical, but her hands are steady as she helps Merlin sit up. "Merlin, are you—how did—_why_ did—you're a _GIRL_!"

Merlin looks down and hey, what do you know, he is.

This could take some explaining.

  
—-

Gwen makes him sit still with his head between his knees, which makes him feel utterly foolish but also helps get rid of the residual dizziness. His trousers are much too tight around his hips, but apart from that Merlin can't tell by simply looking that he's not what he's supposed to be.

Namely, male.

Every movement feels strange and like he doesn't have complete control of himself, which is fun in a sort of bizarre way, right up until it becomes frustrating and makes him fumble the waterskin that Gwen hands him. A few drops of the cold liquid fall onto the bare skin of his wrist where his sleeve has been pushed up, making him jump.

Even that feels like too much.

Merlin wipes the water droplets away angrily and makes a frustrated noise. Gwen still looks stunned, although Merlin isn't exactly sure why. It could be the way Nimueh had vanished, it could be the thought of Merlin with a man, or it could be a combination of the two. "Gwen?"

"Is that something all you magic people can do? Simply...disappear?"

Merlin's mouth gapes for a moment before he shrugs. If he can't trust Gwen, he might as well give up now. "No idea. I can't do that, or at least not yet."

"Right." Gwen looks less stunned, which is a step in the right direction for her, at least. For Merlin, not so much. She nods decisively and turns to face him, hands on her hips. "Now all we need to do is find you a man, which shouldn't be that hard."

"..." says Merlin.

"You're sort of cute, in a skinny, country-girl way." Gwen scrutinises him, which surprisingly wasn't fun when he was male and is even less fun now that she looks like she's eyeing him for the cook pot. "Think you can use that magic of yours to do something about your clothes?"

Merlin nods dumbly and allows Gwen to pull him towards their baskets, where she yanks her cloak out and holds it towards him. "To cover you when we get back to the castle. You might be a girl, but you still look like Merlin, and the less attention we get on the way to Gaius the better."

He's never going to underestimate Gwen again, oh no.

—-

To Merlin's relief, his magic is unaffected. He'd had horrors of it being lessened, or, worse, gone entirely, the feeling of it flooding his body as Nimueh disappeared a figment of his imagination. It wouldn't have been too much to expect for Nimueh to have stolen it along with his original gender, but no, it's still there, a sort of tingling at the edge of his mind as they walk back towards Camelot.

Merlin stretches his fingers experimentally, and looks sideways at Gwen. He doesn't want to scare her, but on the other hand... "Gwen, would you mind if I, uh..."

"Tried some magic?" Oh yeah, never underestimate this woman. "Go ahead. But, Merlin, be careful."

"Right, like I was planning on making it obvious that there's a sorcerer riding towards Camelot."

"Don't you mean sorceress?" There's nothing Merlin can say, or wants to say, to that, so instead he thinks of small things he can do to test his powers. A stain from Gwen's dress slowly vanishes, and a rip in his trousers, now spelled to be much more comfortable around his new hips, knits together after much concentration. Then a low hung branch lifts itself out of Gwen's way, and suddenly the various insects around them can't get close enough to bite.

"Must be useful, being able to do all that," is Gwen's only comment, but although she hides it well, she's impressed. Merlin smiles and calls a bunch of wildflowers from the forest for her, magically tying them (not without difficulty) onto the handle of her basket.

Getting back into Camelot is stupidly easy. Gwen, as Morgana's personal maid, is asked no questions, and the servant accompanying her on a gathering expedition for Gaius earns nothing more than a glance from the guards. It's one of those times, Merlin reflects, where honesty really is the best policy, because it's so ambiguous.

Then she starts talking about the linen cupboard, and dresses, and underclothes, and he wants one of the guards to recognise him so he can get put in the dungeons, away from this clothes fiend who has taken the place of Gwen.

—

His whole body _aches, _in every possible way. Gaius manages about a minute of sympathy before he's prodding and poking and generally making Merlin feel like one of the physician's experiments. He asks a lot of questions, most of which Merlin can't answer, and finally flings his hands in the air and demands to know what Merlin _does know. _

"It was Nimueh, it was a spell, it _hurt._" "That's it?"

"Yes that's it," Merlin shouts, "what else do you want?! I was on the floor and in pain, Gaius, sorry I didn't manage to catch the exact spell she used."

"Now that would have been useful." Gaius either ignores Merlin's near-scream of annoyance, or just doesn't notice; Merlin's betting on the latter, honestly. Gwen lays a calming hand on his shoulder and gently reminds him to breathe.

"Sorry, Gwen."

"How **do** you feel?" The only thing that keeps Merlin from shouting at her as well is the sincere note of sympathy in her voice. He sighs and crumples into a chair, resting his head on his arms and speaking to the rough wood of Gaius's work table.

"My body has been forced to change genders, Gwen, so I feel pretty ill." That's actually true; Merlin briefly thinks about asking Gaius for a potion to settle his stomach, but that would mean lifting his head so Gaius can hear him, and it's just too much effort. "I'm sore, and I keep thinking I'm going to fall over when I walk, and I think I'm more flexible than before, which is weird."

Gwen sits next to him and replaces her hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently. "You should've said something on the way back, I didn't know it was that bad."

"It wasn't, then. I think I was running on adrenaline."

"Come on then, get this down your neck." Merlin raises his head in time to see Gaius set a mug of something steaming in front of him. The smell of it makes Merlin want to retch, but he's learnt that, generally, the worse Gaius's concoctions smell, the better they work. He reaches out and grasps the mug firmly, determined not to repeat the incident with the water, and downs it in one.

He coughs and splutters but doesn't throw up, and, wonder of wonders, actually starts to feel a little better.

"Right, now that's out of the way, lets think about this." Merlin eyes Gaius balefully as he wipes streaming eyes. "Oh don't look at me like that, it was for your own good."

"It was _foul_!" Gwen laughs a little, before cutting herself off and looking at Merlin in dismay. "Oh, for goodness sakes Gwen, you can still laugh at me. I'm still Merlin, just, well...a little different."

"Just a little, yes." She laughs properly then, the sound bringing a smile to Merlin's lips. Even Gaius looks amused, before he leans forward and looks serious. Gwen swallows the rest of her laughter, and Merlin braces himself.

"Now then. What are you going to call yourself?"

Things just keep getting even more surreal after that.

—-

Gwen pulls Merlin down to where the seamstresses work, intent on getting him some clothes that will fit properly and - this is the bit that scares him - make him look 'pretty'.

Merlin maybe wants to crawl into a hole and hide for the next hundred years.

When he voices this plan, Gwen just laughs and tells him it "won't be that bad, stop being such a coward." Merlin would tell her that he's plenty brave, thank you very much, but then she comes at him with a measuring string and he squeaks in the most cowardly way possible while edging away.

She ropes in two of the other maids to help her keep Merlin still, which is just as humiliating as it sounds, and finally gets enough measurements to let him sidle over to a chair out of the way of the working women and try to blend into the background. Gwen collects a series of dresses from somewhere and sets about checking them for signs of wear.

"Did you have to do that?"

She doesn't look up from her perusal of a deep blue dress that Merlin actually quite likes the look of, but he can tell she's rolling her eyes. "Don't be such a baby, it was your own fault."

"Why do people keep telling me that?!" Gwen looks up at him sharply.

"Are you—"

"I am _not _going to cry!" He fights down the prickly feeling at the back of his throat and scowls. Gwen nods slowly and leaves him to it, fingers deft on the fabric.

Slowly the room empties, all the other women leaving for meals or taking mended clothing back to their various master or mistresses. Merlin's own pointed comments about Morgana needing Gwen go unheeded, apart from a pert comment that Morgana is quite capable of fending for herself, and she'll call for Gwen when she's needed.

Merlin acquiesces without further struggle when Gwen holds up one of the dresses, because he's tired and still a bit unstable, and doesn't feel like making this any harder than it already is. Gwen pulls out a screen and hands him the dress, telling him to take as much time as he needs. Merlin stares at it for a goodly time before he drapes it over the top of the screen and sets to work getting his clothes off.

The shirt comes off first, and Merlin surprises himself with the extent of how well he's taking this whole episode. He looks down, takes in the swell of small but curvy breasts, and doesn't faint. He looks again, and still nothing. He lifts one hesitant hand and brushes his fingers over the outer edge, and...yeah, nothing.

Either he's handling this incredibly well, or the shock hasn't hit yet.

All it feels like is a breast. Sure, it's weird because it's his _own_ breast, but honestly, the gryphon was weirder. Merlin shrugs, gets momentarily distracted by what this does to his new chest, and then sets to work on his trousers. The sight of smooth skin under coarse hair, where before there had been something most definitely different, makes him feel a little dizzy but it passes.

_The shock should_‘_ve hit by now, _thinks Merlin, _and even I could tell Gaius just gave me something for my stomach._

He resigns himself to being pretty much unflappable, and yanks the dress on over his head, stepping put from behind the screen to hand himself over to a patient Gwen.

**

"Do you think that sorceress had anyone in mind for you? I mean, she mentioned it, but not who." Merlin, lost in a daydream of a world where he's happily engrossed in his book of magic and not being fitted for a dress or something equally feminine, answers without thinking.

"Nimueh? Probably Arthur." The sharp pain of a pin in his leg shatters the daydream. "Ow, Gwen, what the hell? Is dressmaking always this painful, or are you taking your anger out on me!?"

She stares up at him incredulously. "Arthur?"

"Wha- oh. Yeah. She has a—_thing_ for trying to kill him by using other people." Gwen nods slowly and goes back to her pinning, although to Merlin's relief she appears to take more care than usual.

"So, what, she hopes you'll spontaneously use magic in the middle of sex and kill him?" That brings it home, really, what the reason for all this is, and Merlin tries desperately not to fall off the small platform Gwen has him standing on.

"Something like that."

Gwen merely says "hmm," whatever that means, and starts working on the hem of Merlin's new dress. Merlin looks down at her head and thanks whatever gods can hear him that he's got a friend like her; anyone else would be mocking him for that remark, whereas Gwen will save it for when he can handle it.

As he turns and feels his skirts brush against his legs, Merlin feels that this is definitely not that time.

—

He gets called into Uther's presence a day later, something he was expecting but still isn't ready for. The receiving chamber looks different somehow, and then Merlin realises that's because it's mostly empty. Most of the knights are still out on their hunting trip, which also explains why he hasn't received any summons from Arthur for the last week—or why Merlin hasn't, at least. The summons was for Mary, cousin of Merlin, and he's having a hard time remembering that.

Uther sits in his throne, the table in front of him covered with the scrolls and tally sheets necessary for the running of a good castle, and he isn't wearing his crown. He looks more like a simple nobleman than the King of Camelot, and, like always when he sees Uther like this, some of the nervousness drains out of Merlin. "You asked to see me, your majesty?"

Oh, gods, he even sounds like a girl. The acoustics in this place make it so much more obvious than in his own room, or in Gwen's, and the nervousness comes crashing back. He twists the material in his hastily-made skirt and waits for Uther to look up. When he does, it's with a softer expression than he's ever looked at Merlin, apart from that first time he'd saved Arthur's life. The nervousness lifts, and for pity's sake, can't his emotions make up their mind?

"Ah, yes. You are Mary, correct? Merlin's cousin?" Merlin nods jerkily. "I understand that he has had to leave us and return to his village. Not more problems with raiders, I hope?" The hint of humour must be accidental, thinks Merlin; there is no way Uther now finds that incident amusing.

"N-no, you majesty. Personal matters. His mother."

Uther nods understandingly. "Say no more." Fine by Merlin; anything more and he'd probably betray himself. "I have been told that you've taken over his work as Gaius's apprentice, which is to be expected, but I am curious to know if you have been informed as to the total extent of your cousin's duties?" Merlin makes to nod his head, than remembers that he wouldn't know, because Arthur has been gone this past week, and shakes it instead. "I thought as much. He also served as manservant to Prince Arthur, duties which you will be expected to take on as well."

"Yes, your majesty." Uther nods, makes a notation on a piece of parchment and gives it to a clerk. Merlin makes to follow him out and flee back to Gaius, but Uther's voice stops him dead.

"If I hear of any misconduct on your part, anything at all, you will be sent back in disgrace and neither you nor your cousin will work in this castle again, do you understand?"

Merlin's sure that every female servant gets this threat, and he's also sure that most of them ignore it. "Of course, my King."

With that he's free, and once out of the door he all but runs for it.

Gwen's waiting for him when he reaches Gaius's quarters, and beams brightly at his thumbs up. Then she looks worried again. Merlin raises his eyebrows questioningly. "Morgana knows. I didn't tell her, but she guessed, somehow."

The news isn't really a shock. Morgana has a way of getting information that may or may not be entirely allowed under the current rules, something Merlin keeps meaning to investigate. "Will she say anything, do you think?"

Gwen shakes her head emphatically. "She told me she wouldn't. It's just, she, well, wants to help."

"...in what way, exactly?" Gwen looks guilty.

"She wants to do the whole 'dressing you up' thing. I never let her help me with that sort of stuff, and I think she wants to show you how to be discreet about the whole maid thing." She says it all in a bit of a rush, and Merlin looks at her suspiciously.

"You told her that Nimueh probably wants me to sleep with Arthur, didn't you."

"Sort of." Merlin glares. "Okay, yes! She already knew about the girl thing, so I figured it wouldn't do any harm!"

"Gwen, she'll either kill me or try to help me, and I'm not sure which would be worse!" The door opens then, making Merlin spin round in sudden fear at how loud his voice has become, and hey, swirling skirts? Kinda nice. It's only Gaius, thankfully, but Merlin makes sure to keep his voice at a normal level when he rounds on Gwen again. "She can help, because she knows, but she can't _help_."

Gaius frowns at the two of them and clears his throat. "If I may interrupt?" Gwen sighs but nods at Merlin, before they turn to listen. "Gwen, might I suggest you make the most of this time without Arthur to teach Merlin how to be a proper maid, mm?" He makes a weird sort of movement with his eyebrows that Merlin doesn't understand, but apparently Gwen does because she agrees and starts pulling Merlin out of the room.

"Uh, Gwen, what...?"

"Gaius is right. You'll never pass as a girl without some help." Merlin recognises the route through the corridors that they're taking; it leads to Morgana's rooms, which is not where he wants to go at all. He tries to dig his heels in, but the shoes Gwen had found him have softer soles than his usual boots, and are also slightly too big on feet which seem to have shrunk a little, so he can't get any purchase to resist. "Stop it, this is for your own good!"

Merlin sighs dramatically and lets her drag him again. She's usually right about this sort of stuff, it can't hurt.

—

Merlin's wrong.

It can, and does, hurt.

Beside him, Gwen drops gracefully to her knees once more, demonstrating the correct way for a maid to get down in order to tend the fire and stack logs into their basket. She looks up and tugs impatiently on Merlin's skirt, gesturing downwards with her other hand. Merlin drops his shoulders, takes a relaxing breath and drops. Surprisingly, it doesn't hurt. Gwen looks at him proudly. "Well done; that was actually graceful."

"Makes a change." They straighten together—that, at least, Merlin had mastered after the tenth time he tried to drop without bruising himself any further—and Gwen nods her approval. "What's next?" Gwen gives him a funny look.

"You're really not scared, or worried, or anything, are you."

Merlin shrugs. "Nope."

"But why not?" Gwen tugs at a lock of hair curling out from where Merlin's shoved it behind his ear, letting the long strands slip through her fingers as she stares at him. Nimueh's spell had been thorough, but Merlin has still needed to use some of his own magic to make his hair longer otherwise he'd've just looked like Merlin in a dress.

"Because...I'm just not?" Merlin smiles as Gwen rolls her eyes. "I was born with magic, Gwen; I'm used to weird things happening around me."

"Shh!" She flaps her hands at him, looking hastily at the door. Predictably, there's no one there. "You might not want to say that so loudly." It occurs to Merlin that he hasn't thanked Gwen for still trusting him, or for swearing to never tell as they walked back to Camelot, so he rectifies that immediately. Gwen's expression goes soft.

"_Never_, okay? Not unless you tell me it's alright. Now" she continues briskly, a transparent attempt to break the atmosphere that's threatening to become unreservedly soppy that Merlin loves her for, "walking."

"Walking?"

"Walking," she repeats firmly, grinning at Merlin's confusion. "It's important that you draw as little attention to yourself when performing your duties-"

"Oh, I know that." He just doesn't try that hard. It's so much more fun to annoy Arthur.

"In skirts that swing, and get caught, and tangle around your legs?"

"..."

"Didn't think so. Come on, try and copy me."

Roughly a candlemark later, after Merlin has tripped over his new skirts enough times for any man to have to cope with, Gwen deems him "acceptable, with the potential to be a pretty okay girl." His relief is so obvious she starts giggling and can't stop for quite a while. She wipes away tears as Merlin folds his arms and glares, then takes up a pile of sewing, divides it into half and beckons for Merlin to join her at the table. "You girls have it pretty hard, don't you."

Gwen shrugs. "Sort of. We have to be more careful than you men, that's a given, but Uther doesn't tolerate crude behaviour towards the servants from his knights, which makes it better than some places I've worked." Merlin thinks about that for a while, letting the rhythm of his needle soothe his worries. When he's done with a plain shirt, Gwen takes it off him and inspects it. "This is actually good work. Fine enough for a lady's maid, in fact."

"Can't do everything with magic, you know. Besides, I had to learn how to sew just so I could do some of my chores in Arthur's room. It'd look suspicious if I went somewhere else to do it all."

"Aren't you worried he's going to guess?" Gwen's hands are still on her own ripped shirt, anxiety clear in her voice.

"No. He'll glare at me, ask about the village and then cover it up with a comment about how he hopes I won't be as incompetent as my cousin."

Gwen giggles, and together they set about the pile of mending in earnest. They work in a companionable silence for a while, but Merlin can tell Gwen is trying to figure out how to ask him something. Her brow is furrowed, she's biting her lip and she keeps periodically stopping to stare at her hands.

He sighs. "Gwen, what is it?" She looks up, startled, and smiles sheepishly.

"I was just, well, wondering..."

"Yes?"

"Why don't you...I mean, why haven't you..." She flinches as her preoccupation means the needle jabs into the soft pad of her thumb, blood welling in seconds. Merlin sighs again, tilts his head in a silent request for permission, then applies a little magic. "Thank you. Does Gaius - of course he does. Is he teaching you to do that sort of-"

"_Gwen._"

"Oh. Um." She shuts her eyes and says, in a rush: "Why haven't you just bedded one of the kitchen boys, or a stablehand, or an apprentice, or...someone like that?"

Merlin makes a strangled noise, staring at Gwen as if she's grown two heads and started breathing fire. "WHAT?!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but you know, you're taking this so well, I thought you'd be alright with just, well, you know."

"Bedding a _man_ when I'm a _woman_?" Gwen narrows her eyes and uh oh he's underestimated her again. "Say a word and I'll turn you into something unpleasant." She grins, and not in a way that gives Merlin any comfort.

"So, a man when you're a—" Merlin glares and tries to do that thing where his eyes turn gold, which Gaius informs him is very impressive, but he can never seem to do without being on the brink of performing some highly dangerous and highly illegal magic. From the way Gwen keeps on grinning it doesn't work this time either.

He settles for deflection instead, although that might be an equally bad move.

"When I'm ready, Gwen. I don't think Nimueh's going to send anything else our way while she thinks there's the possibility I'm going to do what she wants - which I'm not, by the way, - so it'll take as long as it takes."

"How accepting of you." Merlin shrugs. He hadn't been lying when he'd said he's used to weird things happening to him, and, although he'll _never_ admit it, this isn't the first time he's been a girl.

There was a May Day dance lacking a maiden, and...well. Yeah. The villagers had assumed that he'd used a wig and some subtle padding to stop every young girl in Ealdor descending into a full-scale sulk, but for a few hours he'd been truly female. It's given him a headstart on coping this time around; exploring your body, even if it's not the one you were born with, is a lot easier when you live by a forest.

Lots of places to hide, you see.

"What about if the, the..._spell_" Gwen takes a look round after she whispers it, and Merlin pokes her arm. "Ow, hey! I'm just saying, what if the spell isn't just aimed at Arthur? What if..."

"It is. Don't ask how, but I know it's only for Arthur." He can feel the tug of warped power every time he and Arthur get a little too close, an insidious thread of magic alongside his own that wants to _rip and tear and take and burn and **destroy**. _Merlin has to take a deep breath, force it down. Merlin opens his eyes to see Gwen looking at him, concern filling her warm eyes.

She doesn't say anything, just rests her arm over his shoulders and waits. When he takes a shuddering breath all she does is squeeze his shoulder, then points out where he's going wrong with his sewing.

By the time Morgana returns from...wherever she's been all day, the atmosphere is restored, the mending is finished, and Gwen is trying to teach Merlin how to walk in a more feminine way. Morgana sweeps in just as Gwen tells Merlin "hips, Merlin, move your hips!", and immediately sets about helping.

If life could get any weirder, Merlin would never like to find out.

—

Sir Gareth is one of the few knights at Camelot that Merlin can stand being around, which makes it less uncomfortable being stuck in the armoury with him. The servants tasked with replacing the tapestries in Arthur's rooms had unceremoniously kicked Merlin out, or rather kicked Mary out, so they didn't have to work around him. Merlin could have offered to do it for them, and then done it in five seconds flat with magic, but instead he'd gathered up the heap of spare armour Arthur had demanded he clean 'just in case' and decamped to here.

Which is where Sir Gareth had found him. Her. Whatever Merlin classifies himself as these days. The point is, he'd sat down with his sword and whetstone, politely asking if Merlin minded the company. He's a third son, which would usually make Merlin avoid him like the plague, because third sons usually have the most to prove, but Gareth doesn't seem all that bad so far. He doesn't send Merlin on pointless tasks, for one thing, and he's polite when he genuinely needs something doing.

Merlin smiles a little and shakes his head, going back to his work. Sir Gareth works on the blade of his sword with sure, even strokes, and start asking Merlin about his village, and then what he thinks of Camelot, and around the time Merlin is laughing at a tale concerning Arthur, two chickens and a very confused Uther, Merlin realizes he's being gently courted. Merlin finds he doesn't mind all that much, and lets it carry on.

When he finishes with Arthur's armour, Gareth (he got told to drop the title half an hour into their conversation) offers to help him carry it back ready for the morning. Merlin isn't sure whether accepting is the proper thing to do, but he's tired and the armour is heavy, so sod it. Arthur isn't there when they enter, which is definitely a good thing because Merlin can't stop smiling.

He turns the smile on Gareth, to see what effect it has. He feels even bouncier when Gareth's own smile deepens, and takes Merlin's hand. "It was a pleasure to speak with you, miss."

He bows and kisses the back of Merlin's hand gently, and oh god Merlin needs to see Gwen now. He's getting way out of his depth here. Luckily that seems to be the end of it, as Gareth leaves without further ado. Inspection of his present emotional state convinces Merlin that no, he didn't mind the advances at all, and no, being a girl isn't all that bad.

_Take that, Nimueh_, he thinks, _I_‘_ve found someone else!_

—-

The cramps hit around two weeks into Merlin's forced femininity, along with a Gwen who can't decide whether she wants to be sympathetic or vindictive. Sympathy only wins out after Merlin uses his magic to increase the potency of the elixir she tells him most women take 'at this time' by tenfold, and he's grateful for it. Women, he reasons, are what hold the castle together, and if they can work through this then so can he.

It doesn't stop him from moaning to Gwen about it, though, or making sure the honey supply in the kitchens will never run out.

He's bitchier than usual to Arthur when getting him up, and a little more abrupt when putting his armour on. A part of his mind tells him it's really not a good idea to let this show, but the other part, the part that remembers when it didn't have to go through this every month, tells it to shut up and yanks a strap roughly. Arthur, for his part, has obviously never been exposed to a woman who doesn't hide how irritated the tiniest things make her, all because of a biological impulse.

After his third awkward attempt at offering to finish the armour himself, Merlin smiles ruefully and fastens the sword belt around Arthur's waist with a practiced efficiency. 'Sorry; I'll be alright once I've been to see Gaius. Sire ."

Arthur nods and practically runs from the room, leaving Merlin shaking with badly suppressed laughter and an even greater respect for the females among the castle staff.

—-

The cramps, and accompanying bleeding (oh, god, the _bleeding_) only last for a few days, but Merlin feels unbalanced for a whole week afterwards. He spends a lot of time with Gwen and the other maids watching them and learning how to not hit someone or burst into tears at the slightest provocation, something Merlin had thought was simply men being disparaging about their wives but which does occasionally happen.

He spends an equally large amount of time locked in his room trying not to set anything on fire.

He gets through it by constantly reminding himself that it's only temporary, and he should bear it without complaint because Gwen and Morgana have to deal with this year in, year out. Sir Gareth helps an inordinate amount by bringing him little treats, mostly sweetmeats begged from the kitchens, and sits with him as Merlin works on Arthur's armour.

It's on one such occasion that Gareth finally does what Merlin has resigned himself to wanting, and kisses him. Her. _Whatever_. Anyway, it's all ludicrously sweet and clichéd; Merlin brushes his grown-out bangs out of his eyes and ends up with a smudge of polish on his cheek, which leads to Gareth leaning in to wipe it away, and then...

Gareth's mouth is warm and soft against Merlin's own, his arm firm but gentle as he slides it around Merlin's waist. He doesn't press any further than a flick of his tongue against Merlin's lower lip to begin with, which is fine because it gives Merlin a chance to get used to the whole being kissed by a man-while-actually-a-woman thing. Perhaps unsurprisingly, he finds he doesn't care about it. Merlin moves his hands over Gareth's chest and up, curling them over broad shoulders and pulling the knight in a little closer.

Merlin can feel the pleased sound Gareth makes against his own chest, and it makes something bright and warm flare low in his stomach. It makes him bold, makes him open his mouth and initiate a tentative slid of tongue against tongue. It's toe-curlingly good, and then they get interrupted.

Someone, most likely a servant, rounds the corner into the armoury, drops a sword with a shocking clatter, stammers an apology and runs. Merlin reluctantly breaks away and smiles up at Gareth, conscious of his swollen lips and the way his hair seems to be messier than usual.

"I should probably, you know, get back to that. Um." Merlin gestures to the pile of armour he still has to clean and tries not to smile like an idiot. From the look on Gareth's face he's pretty sure he fails.

"Of course. Until later then, miss." Gareth gives him a final, soft kiss, then steps back as Merlin touches his fingers to reddened lips.

"Me- Mary. It's, ah, Mary."

Gareth's eyes crinkle with the size of his smile, and Merlin becomes aware that he's just gone another step down this road without meaning to, or even realising. "Until later, Mary." Gareth bows low as he speaks, which Merlin is very grateful for because he starts blushing, but manages to hide it by pretending to be focusing on his work as Gareth walks briskly out of the room.

Only when the sounds of his footsteps have faded does Merlin put aside the armour with shaking hands and run to find Gwen—although he has the presence of mind to move the abandoned sword onto a table first.

—-

Gwen reacts in the way Merlin had expected her to, honestly. She grins, claps her hands and immediately calls Morgana to tell her everything.

Merlin will kill her one day, if he can get away with it.

"Wait a moment," says Morgana, "I thought you were supposed to seduce Arthur?" Merlin feels the exasperation rising.

"I'm not going to seduce Arthur! It'd be wrong, and weird, and I'm not going to play into her hands like that."

"But-"

"Morgana, no."

"Gwen said-"

"Would you want to seduce Arthur?" Merlin points out when Morgana goes to argue again, and feels victorious when she clamps her mouth shut and looks uncomfortable. "Didn't think so. Look, this is just another one of Nimueh's twisted plans, so for all I know she could've been lying about the whole, you know," he waves a hand awkwardly.

"Sex thing?" Gwen supplies, grinning.

"Yes, that, thank you."

"Just trying to help." They both nod earnestly at him, making Merlin feel as if he's being ganged up on. "Well," continues Gwen briskly, "even if you aren't going to get Arthur, we can make sure you get someone."

"Uh oh." Merlin has the feeling that although he's pretty comfortable being a girl, the things Gwen and Morgana are planning to do to him are going to bring the discomfort right back again. They circle him like a pair of predators, talking about fabrics and patterns and things they say he needs to learn, like how to flirt, because apparently even though Gareth seems 'interested', you can never be too careful.

It's all a bit much for Merlin, and he finds himself wishing he were outside and sparring with Arthur, getting bruised black and blue, trading insults and breathlessly sarcastic comments.

It'd be painful, but at least Arthur's never tried to put cosmetics on him.He gets away with it for about two months, much to his surprise. In a similar way to his magic, he walks around with the perpetual feeling that someone will notice, but they don't. Gwen shrugs and tells him it's because it happened right before harvest; one more face at court goes ignored in the rush of tasks which need doing, as does the lack of one.

By the time everything's calmed down a bit, and Merlin no longer walks round with scratches on his arms from helping pick fruits, or smelling of the ungents and elixirs Gaius has him mixing, everyone's used to Mary, Merlin's cousin come to take his place at Camelot.

Merlin relaxes and tries to be normal, or as normal as he ever is. He helps Gaius deliver medicines and runs errands, does the thousand and one tasks Arthur manages to find for him (along with attempting to ignore the remarks Arthur sometimes murmurs about his 'cousin' in a tone of voice Merlin can't quite place), and attempts to put into practice some of the things Morgana and Gwen teach him about flirting.

He feels less foolish each time he tries something, because apparently the girls are right about this sort of thing. Gareth gets even more attentive, and each time they part after exchanging breathless kisses Merlin can't help thinking he might manage to get himself out of this without help, and foil Nimueh, which will always be a good thing.

Of course, a plan that works this well can't last without something going wrong.

And it does.

Arthur finds out, or rather works it out, as summer comes to an end. Merlin and Gwen had discussed this eventuality already, so he's mostly prepared. Arthur isn't all that stupid, and because the summer is almost over he's back at the castle for longer between hunts, which means Merlin has had to be extra careful about not letting too much of himself slip when being 'Mary'.

That said, it really isn't his fault that Arthur does work it out.

It's the dress.

Although near autumn, the days are still hot without much of a breeze, so the ladies in Camelot have taken to wearing loose, billowing shirts of cooler cotton underneath their dresses, instead of the fitted sleeves that usually fasten on. The upside is they're cooler, which pretty much everyone is grateful for. The downside is, they aren't fastened at the wrists.

Arthur and he are both in the Prince's chambers after a busy day being roped into helping with any and all tasks that still need doing before autumn hits—being royalty hadn't exempted Arthur from being made to help with preserving the fruit harvests, Merlin had been pleased to see—and Merlin lifts his arm to take down a torch from the wall.

The sleeve slips down to his elbow, and Arthur looks up at the annoyed noise Merlin makes. With a speed he usually reserves for tournaments, sparring and impromptu battles with possibly magical creatures, Arthur is by his side and gripping his wrist tight enough to bruise. Merlin freezes. He knows what Arthur has seen.

It's a scar, and a fairly distinctive one at that. There's no way he can dismiss it as a childhood injury, 'cousins' playing at blood brothers, because Arthur was there when he got the blasted thing.

Arthur is very still. His grip lessens slightly, and he raises his other hand to trace the curved edges of the mark. His eyes close as Merlin tries not to do anything at all, and he sighs deeply. "Merlin?"

"Oh, _hell_." That about sums it up, really. For Merlin, at least; it appears Arthur has other ideas, like making him explain.

"All this time?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"How do you think?" Arthur's head snaps up and he glares at Merlin, although it isn't really a glare. Merlin pulls his arm out of Arthur's grip and echoes his earlier sigh. "Nimueh, who else."

  
"Why?" Merlin shrugs, and finds himself vaguely impressed by the way Arthur's eyes don't automatically drop down to his bodice.

"No idea." He's damned if he's going to share _that_ with Arthur.

"Has Gaius-"

"If Gaius had found a way to change me back, believe me, I'd be back." He can't help sounding a little angry, because even though he's adapted (Gaius' word, not his; it makes him feel like an experiment) pretty well to being a girl, he still wants to be a boy again _really badly_.

"Oh. Right. So." Arthur looks...well, happy, that's the only word for it. Merlin gives him a wary look, because Arthur happy like this usually means pain for him, but Arthur just looks a bit happier, and seems more relaxed than he has in weeks. Merlin's still trying to work out what the hell is going on when Arthur gives him a narrow-eyed look. "Wait, so what's going on with you and Sir Gareth?"

Oh _**hell**_.

He raises an eyebrow. "You really want to go there?" Arthur splutters.

"But, but, you're Merlin."

"Yes?" Merlin likes pretending to be even more obtuse than Arthur thinks he is, because it sends Arthur all sorts of interesting colours as he tries to work out how serious Merlin is. "And?"

"You're a man."

"Not at the moment." And, oh, here's one secret Merlin can share without potentially being beheaded. "And even if I wasn't, it, um, wouldn'tmakethatmuchdifference."

"What do y- oh. Really?" Merlin nods, biting his lip to stop the bubble of hysterical laughter threatening to burst out of his throat. Arthur worries at his own lip for a moment before shrugging. "Heh. Doesn't matter to me." Merlin rolls his eyes and tries not to look pathetically relieved.

"So long as I still pick up after you?"

"Yeah, that's about it." Arthur grins, unrepentant, and this is what Merlin's been missing for so long, the easy banter, treading the line between teasing and insulting, the best kind they can share. Being 'Mary' is fairly easy - she's the means to getting his true self back, after all - but for all the help Gwen and Morgana have given him they couldn't make not being himself around Arthur any easier.

"Can I ask you something?" Merlin shocks himself a little with the question, but keeps his chin up as Arthur looks at him in surprise.

"Uh, sure?" This is treading the line between Prince and servant far more precariously than they have before, at least without insults, but in this moment neither notices.

"What do I look like?"

"Don't you have a mirror?" Merlin stays silent. He does, but it's tiny. Arthur rubs the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable. "What about Gwen? Or Morgana - do they know?"

"Gwen was with me when it happened, and you know how Morgana is." Oh how they do. Many's the time she's interrupted them setting out to pull some sort of prank, because she somehow knew what they were planning. "I sort of wanted a, um, man's opinion?"

"Merlin, I'm not sure—" Merlin contemplates making Arthur stumble his way through saying nothing at all with a lot of words, then takes pity and waves a hand to dismiss the question, moving away to collect up the remains of Arthur's meal.

"Doesn't matter. I'll ask Gareth later on." He sweeps out of the room in a swirl of skirts, technique courtesy of Gwen but the bounce in his step courtesy of Arthur's bemused and faintly shocked expression.

This is going to be fun.

—-

Not long after that particular conversation, barely time enough for Merlin to catch his breath and let go of his worries concerning Arthur's reaction, Uther sends out groups of knights to safely escort folk from the outlying villages into Camelot for the upcoming Harvest Festival. Not surprisingly, several of the groups get attacked.

Merlin gives himself no time to mock himself for being such a thorough girl as he hurries to Gareth's quarters. The knight's fellow warriors have told him, not without some gentle teasing, that he's unharmed, but Merlin wants- no, _needs_ to see Gareth for himself. _Herself_, Merlin thinks as he knocks on the door, _I_‘_m Mary_.

"Miss- Mary?" He looks confused but not annoyed, definitely a good sign.

Merlin hopes.

He ducks his head and swallows, suddenly nervous. "I, ah, thought you might need some bruise balm." _So pathetic; Morgana would be ashamed of you!_ He risks a glance up through his lashes, aware that it's something the girls had tried to teach him. Gareth smiles slowly as he steps back to let Merlin inside, courteous as ever.

"Thank you, it is most welcome." His smile takes away any stiffness from the formal words, as does the gentleness of his hands as he takes the small pot away from Merlin to place it on the table. "May I ask a favour, unless you are needed elsewhere?"

"I'm not, go ahead." Curious, Merlin momentarily forgets his nerves.

"Could you help me out of my armour? I took a heavy blow to my arm, and it hurts to twist." Merlin grins; this, at least, is something he can do without feeling awkward.

"Of course, my good sir," he says, grinning in a way that is probably completely inappropriate as he crosses to Gareth's side and starts working at the various buckles holding his armour on. Merlin knows which arm is hurt when Gareth hisses sharply as Merlin removes his chainmail, lowering his left arm with a wince and a pained expression.

"Wait, don't." Merlin stops the knight with a hand on his chest, concerned. "Can you keep it up for a moment while I get your shirt off?" Merlin feels curiously detached, previous worries fading in the intimate atmosphere of the room. He barely waits for Gareth's nod before making short work of the ties on the plain linen shirt, helping Gareth take it off without jostling his arm. Merlin frowns at the vivid bruise spreading across his upper arm and over his shoulder, fingers ghosting over the edges as Gareth simply stands.

"Hold this." Gareth smiles at Merlin's bossiness, but does as he's told, taking the small pot from Merlin and waiting for further orders. "Turn towards the light? Thanks. This will be cold."

"Do you chill this stuff before putting it on unsuspecting knights?" Gareth complains, and Merlin grins.

"If its cold that means it's working, cooling down the bruise." That's not all it's doing; only last week Merlin had finished applying the spell he'd used on the women's elixir to all of Gaius' creations, making them successful by tenfold, or even simply successful—like the anti-pregnancy charm currently around his neck, hidden by his bodice, which he is resolutely _not_ thinking about.

The pungent but not unpleasant smell of herbs fills the air between them as Merlin rubs it into the bruise with tender fingers, mindful of every noise Gareth makes. For all the knight is stoic and apparently trying to hide any discomfort, Merlin has had a lot of practice at interpreting Arthur's reactions after a skirmish, and the prince is much better at it than Gareth.

"Stop trying to be brave, you great idiot. I can't put this balm where it's most needed if I don't know where that is because you're being the strong, silent, stupid knight!"

"Sorry, ma'am." He sounds contrite enough, but when Merlin next touches his arm Gareth lets out a groan of pain more fitting for a broken leg than a mere bruise. Merlin pokes him in the side and gets a wide smile in return.

Nerves are a thing of the past.

He works in silence for another moment or two, stepping back to make sure he's applied the healing ointment to the entire portion of the bruise on Gareth's arm before starting on his shoulder. Gareth shifts restlessly, unused to being immobile for such a long period of time. Even removing his armour hadn't taken this long.

Merlin steps behind him to cover the back of the bruise last, unable to see Gareth's face when he speaks. "My brothers and I had a message from our mother today." Merlin, unsure of what answer to give, and unguided by anything either Gwen or Morgana had said to him, makes a curious noise.

At least, he hopes it's curious.

Gareth seems to think so, and continues. "She informs us that our father has fallen ill, and asks if one of us will return to help carry the burden of the estates while he recovers. As the youngest, it is not my place, but my brothers," he sounds hesitant, "they do not want such responsibility. They ask that I return."

_Oh_, thinks Merlin with a sense of disappointment, _he_‘_s leaving_. Out loud he says "such a duty cannot be avoided, naturally." Moving to pick up the discarded shirt, Merlin feels a hand catch hold of his wrist and turns with the gentle pull. Gareth's face is sad but hopeful; too much a Knight of Camelot to simply take, but too much of a man not to hope.

Merlin barely thinks beyond letting the voice in his head (which sounds annoyingly like Arthur) ask what the hell he thinks he's doing before he steps forward and kisses Gareth.

It's hard yet sweet, impossibly flavoured by the herbs of the balm. Merlin lets the natural instincts his body seems to have guide his movements and hooks his arms behind Gareth's neck, mindful of putting too much pressure on the bruised shoulder. Gareth's hands feel huge at his hips, holding Merlin close as securely as Merlin is holding him.

"Please, I want—" Merlin gasps, barely aware that he's speaking, nuzzling at the line of Gareth's neck in lieu of kissing him, inhaling the sharp scent of male sweat.

Gareth leans back and asks, in a voice barely above a whisper, "are you sure?" It's not even a true question; Merlin's nodding as soon as he sees Gareth forming the words, trying to tug the knight towards the neatly made bed without having to unwind his arms. Merlin laughs, surprised, as Gareth lifts him by the hips and swings him to stand next to his intended destination.

"Are you always this chivalrous, not even making a lady walk to your bed?" Merlin says breathlessly, but if Gareth answers he doesn't hear it. His attention is wholly focused on Gareth's clever fingers making short work of the ties at either side of his bodice. The two parts fall away without sound, leaving Merlin in a plain shift and his skirt, feeling shockingly comfortable.

Definitely unflappable.

As comfortable as Merlin is with his body, there's a big difference between looking at it when alone and looking at it in the company of another. Merlin fights the urge to cover himself up as his skirt pools on the ground, letting his hair fall forward to hide the blush he knows is staining his cheeks. Gareth's soft touch tilts his chin up.

"Mary? I...you don't...I leave tomorrow, you don't have to..." Merlin raises his eyes, past the evidence of how much Gareth wants this that makes his blush deepen, and looks Gareth in the eyes.

"I want to," he says firmly, and shoves any last lingering doubts away. Gareth smiles and captures his lips again, kissing him with an intensity that leaves Merlin feeling embarrassingly weak at the knees.

He vaguely registers being picked up again, and laid out on the bed, but Gareth is doing something delicious to the side of his neck with his tongue and everything else pales into insignificance. Until, that is, he cups Merlin's breast through the thin material of his shift, thumb brushing over the nipple. Gods, Merlin hadn't known they were mean to be _that_ sensitive.

After that things go a bit fuzzy, although never so much so that Merlin loses track of what's going on. It's just, well, Gareth's hands are so careful and soft as they trace contours and places Merlin's sure have never felt so good to be touched before, that feel amazing through cloth but unbelievable against bare skin.

Gareth's breeches go the same way as his shift at some point, although Merlin makes a not-entirely conscious effort to stamp on any rising awkwardness before it could interfere with whatever Gareth's fingers are doing to his nipple, because he never wanted that to stop.

Except for the knight to use his mouth instead, _ohh_.

Merlin gasps and arches, feeling a little ridiculous as he does so, but doesn't care. Gareth laughs quietly as he leans on one elbow—the bruised arm, Merlin notes vaguely—and hooks the pregnancy charm on one finger. "Planning ahead?" Luckily for him his voice holds only amusement, otherwise, middle of sex (oh gods) or not, Merlin would have some choice words for him.

"Of course. I am apprenticed to the physician, after all." Merlin intends it to be teasing, but Gareth chooses that moment to smile wickedly and lower his mouth to trace the curves of Merlin's breasts with his tongue and it ends up being rather more breathless.

"That is" says Gareth, kissing the soft skin between the soft mounds, "admirable" kiss "intelligent" kiss "and very useful." Merlin squeezes his eyes shut and gathers fistfuls of the sheets as Gareth kisses the inside of first one thigh and then the other, coming perilously close to where most of Merlin's blood seems to be pooling.

Merlin forces his eyes open as Gareth moves back to hover over him, keeping what he probably deems a safe distance from the timid girl beneath him. Merlin reaches up to curl one arm behind Gareth's neck again, and flicks his eyes downwards.

_That_, at least, he knows what to do with.

Sliding his other hand down the warm planes of the knight's chest, Merlin wraps it around hot flesh and strokes, once, twice, drinking in the burning look of aroused surprise on Gareth's face. The time for talking has passed; apart from Gareth's rough groan, the only sounds come from the crackling of the fire and their combined breathing, uneven and louder than usual.

Gareth catches Merlin's wrist again, eyes warning when Merlin smiles as dirtily as he knows how and tightens his grip before letting go and instead moves his hand to Gareth's neck, pulling him down. This, Merlin has discovered, is a much safer way to achieve the same feeling of being absolutely alive that he gets whenever he uses his magic for something big.

His breathing quickens as Gareth skims a hand down his side, because he knows what point they've reached, and he knows this bit, has done this bit out of curiosity and wonder, but with someone else it's- oh.

It's different, and _better_. Gareth can reach deeper with his finger, can put pressure where it makes Merlin's toes curl even as he digs his nails into Gareth's back, reacting to the twinge of pain. Merlin laughs breathlessly as Gareth slows, the already gentle slide of his finger falling to barely anything.

Merlin can't, he can't _think_, can't summon a rational thought, settles for opening his legs a little wider and moving his hips, hoping to convey without words his need for more. Gareth is either telepathic or he's had practice at reading women, because with the gentlest of pressures one finger becomes two, uncomfortable and slightly more painful but intensely better once Merlin figures out how to relax muscles he wasn't aware he had.

It's some unfathomable time later that Merlin nods jerkily, bracing a leg behind Gareth's thigh to pull him down and in, back arching and breaths coming in shuddering gulps as he's filled, it's the only word. Merlin laughs again, blood and magic and happiness singing through his veins, Gareth careful and slow above him, in him, around him.

A flash of vicious amusement strikes Merlin as he rocks his hips more-or-less in time with Gareth; surely Nimueh hadn't meant him to have this much fun and pleasure out of her enchantment? He laughs, the sound cut off partway through by Gareth's hot mouth covering his, tongues sliding against each other as he intensifies the heat coursing through Merlin.

The peak of the sensations sneaks up on him, probably because he isn't used to it. Gareth drops his head to suck at a nipple, the angle awkward for him but _so_ worth it for Merlin. The heat reaches an intensity that makes Merlin shake, Gareth still solid and measured between his legs as the pleasure spikes.

Merlin tries to gasp in a breath, choking as he tries not to flop like a landed fish. His body doesn't feel like his own, and he'll appreciate that irony when he's done being drowned in sensations and just pure bliss, the like of which he's never felt before.

He can't muster any particular feelings as Gareth slows above him, and he feels a warm rush inside, other than a hazy feeling of pride. Drawn out and satisfied, Merlin pulls Gareth down for a lazy, sloppy kiss that gets interrupted as the knight carefully eases out and stretches out alongside him, hand sliding over Merlin's waist to pull him close.

Warm, relaxed and feeling stupidly smug, Merlin stays awake long enough to register Gareth pulling a blanket over them and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, but anything after that is lost in a rush of comforting darkness that claims him.

——

Morning finds Merlin helping Gareth into his armour, smiling to himself at the much improved condition of the huge bruise. They part with soft kisses and teasing words, a comforting level of camaraderie between them in place of the awkwardness of regrets that Merlin had, irrationally, feared.

Walking back to Gaius' rooms, and hoping he doesn't look too dishevelled, Merlin lets himself feel smug, just for this short time. When he gets back Gaius will no doubt point out that he's still a woman, which means Nimueh hadn't lied, the annoying woman, and he's doomed to be female for the rest of his life. He is not seducing Arthur.

Gaius has already left for his morning rounds, thankfully, which means Merlin doesn't have to go through an interrogation which will no doubt be highly embarrassing, and is free to go straight down to the courtyard and see Gareth off after he's finished with Arthur's chamber. Gwen finds him as he's finishing, looking knowing.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Yup." She smiles brightly and makes a 'tell me' gesture. Merlin sighs and folds Arthur's cloak with meticulous care. Gwen taps her foot.

"What?"

"How was it?" Merlin raises his eyebrows and just looks at her.

"Oh come on, you didn't expect me to not ask?" She raises her eyebrows back.

"Fine." Merlin raises his eyes to he ceiling and smiles to himself. "It was...amazing." His voice conveys much more than the simple phrase. Gwen rushes over and hugs him tightly.

"Was it different?"

Merlin frowns. "Different to what?"

"Bedding a man when you were one yourself. Not that you're not a man, I mean," she adds hurriedly at Merlin's expression, "more a man in a woman's body, but still you. Still...Merlin. Should I not have asked?"

"I-it's, ah, different, yeah. Less...um, there's more...can we really not talk about it?" Gwen pats his arm and smiles understandingly.

"When you're ready, you can talk to me about it. Not that you'd want to, or anything, and you really don't have to at **all**, but it's nice to have someone talk to about your first, right?"

Merlin makes a strangled noise and tries to shut Gwen up. She means well, but gods is this embarrassing. "Gareth wasn't the first. Well, while I'm a girl, obviously, but not—not otherwise."

Gwen blinks at him and her eyes go very wide, her mouth almost a perfect O of understanding. She opens and closes it several times before nodding jerkily, raising a hand to hide awkward giggles. Merlin smiles self-consciously, and Gwen abruptly hugs him again. Then she lets go, expression dropping slightly.

"This means she was telling the truth, doesn't it, about Arthur being the one to...well."

"Yeah."

"What're you going to do?"

He shrugs. "No idea. Hope Gaius and I can find something, I guess." Gwen simply looks at him, sympathetic, then pulls him towards the door, all awkwardness forgotten.

"Come on, let's say goodbye to your knight." They make it down in time for Merlin to exchange a chaste kiss before Gareth mounts, awkward with his amour and sore arm. Merlin presses a kiss to his hand, feeling less foolish than he'd expected. He stands at the base of the castle's steps as Gareth rides out with his manservant, raising an arm in acknowledgement of Gareth's parting wave.

Merlin catches sight of Arthur as he turns to go back inside. The prince looks...not angry, particularly, more like he can't decide what to be. He avoids Merlin's gaze and strides across to where his knights are waiting for him, the sound as he draws his sword ringing loud in the confined space between Camelot's walls.

Merlin will never understand Arthur, not if he lives beyond a hundred.

—-  
It's Gwen that thinks of it, which is mortifying for Merlin because of all the people, it should've been him, or at the very least Gaius, to wonder how Nimueh knew they were going to be in the forest on that particular day.

"Because I don't see her hanging around on the off chance we'd be there," says Gwen, "so how did she know?" She looks at Gaius for an answer, who shrugs.

"Most likely she was scrying you, watching and waiting for an opportunity."

"Probably. What a horrible thought, that someone can watch you wherever you are."  
"She wasn't." They both turn to look at Merlin, hands frozen in the middle of preparing pale strips of willow bark. "I would've known, since the last time."

Gwen is silent, frowning. Merlin knows exactly what's going through her head, and it's puzzling him as well.

It's Gaius who comes up with a solution.

"Maybe she was using someone in the castle for information?"

And that innocuous sentence is the reason why Arthur ends up fighting a duel for Merlin's honour.

Funny how things work out, isn't it.

What happens is this. Once they've blinked at each other, and silently wondered why the hell it's taken them almost two months to realise that maybe, just maybe, Nimueh had had help with this, they start to wonder who would be willing to risk death to help a sorceress turn an (apparently) insignificant servant into a girl.

Two days later Gwen rushes into Gaius's workroom, flushed and panting. "Sir Owain!"

Merlin blinks. "Who?"

"Sir Owain." Gwen looks impatient, hands waving. "You know, the one with the horse you keep saying tries to eat you every time you go near it."

"With the seven brothers?"

"Yes!"

Merlin isn't trying to be obtuse this time, although Arthur probably wouldn't be able to see the difference.

"What about him."

"It's HIM!" Her voice reaches a shriek. Merlin winces, then-

"Oh! Helping Nimueh?" Gwen nods vigorously, grabbing Merlin's hand and dragging him out into the corridor. She pulls him along, breathlessly explaining.

"I had to go and put some of his clothes away - his manservant is ill, so we're sharing the duties - and I didn't know where they went, so I was opening all the cupboards and things, looking, and there it was!"

Merlin tries desperately not to trip over his dress, and at the same time not crash into a wall as Gwen turns a corner and doesn't make room for him.

Gwen isn't used to dragging people along with her, it seems.

"There what was?!"

"The bowl-thing, for the, you know, oh, for God's sake-!" Merlin steps back from the locked door he's just been spun into, shaking out his wrist. "Sorry," says Gwen, sounding less manic and more sheepish. "Can you open it? You should really see the bowl-thing."

"I gathered that from the way you hauled me up here," Merlin replies dryly, as he checks the corridor carefully before waving a hand over the lock. It turns with a soft click, the metal flashing gold for a brief second.

Gwen pushes him inside, and this time he really does trip over his skirts. On the other side of the room already, Gwen pulls open a large cupboard and waits for his reaction. "Merlin, what - oh. Oops." She hurries back to help pull him upright, brushing him down automatically. Merlin bats her off and goes to take a look at the scrying tool; the damn dress can wait, there are more important things at stake here.

"Huh."

"Good huh or bad huh?"

"In what way could finding a scrying bowl in the room of one of Uther's knights be a good thing?"

"...point."

Merlin leans down and follows the curling patterns along the edges with his finger, careful not to actually touch it. The stone bowl sits passively on the shelf, feeling faintly malevolent for all it's smallness. This is definitely Nimueh's work; the thread of her power bound to his own reacts to it, drawn to the greater power used in the bowl's creation like mist to water.

Gwen leans in and watches how the water doesn't react when Merlin gently blows over it. "We can't just leave it here."

"I think I might be able to break the enchantment on it, but I'll need to speak to Gaius."

"You can't do it now?"

Merlin shakes his head with a wry smile. "I'm not all that great with my magic yet. Little things, like the door, that's fine, but trying to do anything bigger _deliberately_ doesn't tend to work that well."

"We'll have to come back, then." Gwen shuts the cupboard carefully, checking that they disturbed nothing else before leaving. A safe distance down the corridor to Morgana's rooms, Gwen stops suddenly. "The knights will be given three days off starting tomorrow, for the Harvest festival and feasts."

"I know; I'm going be stuck doing my duties with Arthur in the room again, getting in the way. I'm hoping he'll have one of his sudden passions for extended training sessions."

"Merlin!" He shrugs; it's true, after all, although he is starting to miss Arthur's company. They haven't really seen much of each other since Arthur worked out his manservant is still his manservant, just...not. "I mean, Sir Owain is going to have some time on his hands."

"Oh."

"Exactly." With her hands on her hips, and glaring at him the way she is now, Merlin reckons she could give Arthur a run for his money in intimidation. "We can't leave that thing there any longer, Merlin; it's dangerous."

Merlin chews his lip and pulls Gwen (rather more carefully than she had pulled him) into an alcove out of earshot of anyone happening to walk past. "What do you suggest we do then?"

Their voices lower to whispers, an unavoidable effect of being in an alcove, apparently.

"Would Arthur be able to call him for something?" Merlin grimaces.

"Yes, because that'd go down well. 'Hey, Arthur, could you keep this knight occupied while I destroy, with my magic, an enchanted bowl that Nimueh uses to spy on us all?'"

"Fine, fine." Gwen frowns hard, thinking. Merlin takes a less strenuous route and simply waits for a solution to come to him.

Shockingly, it works.

"Isn't he the one who got into trouble over that maid a while ago?"

"Think so," Gwen says distractedly, "apparently he tried to force himself on her and got called up in front of Uther. Nothing came of it."

"But he's got a reputation for that sort of thing?"

He's got her attention now, if not her understanding. "Yes. Most of the maids here have had to deal with him at one time or another. Why Uther lets him stay I can't understand." She straightens abruptly, or as much as she can in the cramped space. "Merlin, what are you thinking?"

"Maybe Arthur can help after all."

——-  
Getting a man to proposition you in a lewd and unsavoury manner turns out to be far easier than Merlin had imagined it to be. All he has to do is walk into the armoury while Sir Owain is there, and the knight does the rest. The trickiest part of the entire plan is timing it so that Owain has time to work himself up to insult Merlin's honour just as Arthur arrives, although hopefully he'll go a little further than that.

_You can_‘_t trust magic to act like you want it to, but you can trust men_ thinks Merlin a shade bitterly.

He's leaning backwards slightly, trying to avoid the smell of sweaty and unwashed knight currently wafting over him from Sir Owain. Not surprisingly he finds it repulsive, and catches himself wishing for the fresher scent of a knight who knows what a bath is, like Gareth, or Arthur - _not going there not going there this needs to work don_‘_t get distracted_ \- as he takes a step back.

Sir Owain smiles, gaptoothed and equally repulsive. "Now then, young missy, what's a nice lass like you doin' down 'ere on yer own?"

Merlin chokes down the sarcastic comment that naturally tries to trip off his tongue. "Delivering this armour for cleaning, sir."

"Sure that's all you're 'ere for?"

Ew. _Hurry up, Arthur, or I_‘_ll kill him myself._

"If you would excuse me, sir, I have duties to complete." Heh. Merlin spares a moment to be impressed at how exactly like a castle maid he sounds like.

"I'm sure you do, pretty lass like you." The smile turns into a leer of almost shocking filthiness. On anyone else it might make Merlin laugh, but all it does is make him wish he'd followed Gwen's advice and brought one of the discrete daggers most of the women carry. "'m sure we could find somethin' more interesting to do, eh?"

"Sir, I don't-" The knight grabs Merlin's wrist, puling him sharply forward. The armour falls to the floor in a resounding crash of metal on stone, and Merlin ends up pressed tightly against a man he desperately wants to throw into the lake. "Sir!"

Gods, he hates being a woman, if this is how he gets treated.

A slight tug in the low hum of energy permanently running through his body tells Merlin that Arthur is close, steps even and measured. The thread of Nimueh's magic has it's uses, beyond the whole wanting to kill Arthur thing; he knows exactly how far away Arthur is, knows that a good shout will reach him.

Knowing that means there's only one thing to do.

Merlin screams.

And struggles, and possibly tries to scratch at Sir Owain's eyes, hoping he'll remember to thank Morgana for teaching him how to do that. The tugging intensifies as Arthur's footsteps speed up, and within moments he appears in the doorway, eyes alert and looking for trouble. Merlin very carefully doesn't look at him. Right now Arthur has to see a woman being touched against her will, something not tolerated in this castle.

If he sees his idiot of a manservant getting into another scrape, everything will be for naught.

Sir Owain, perfectly positioned with his back to the door, twists Merlin's wrist and leans right in, breath as foul as the rest of him. "Bet you 'n' me can 'ave some fun, right? Bet you're used to this, workin' for that prince of ours."

For a fleeting moment Merlin considers thanking Owain for doing such a good job of condemning himself.

Then Arthur's there, wrenching Sir Owain back and away, finally, face angry and fierce. The knight stumbles as he turns, making a noise of outrage as he blindly swings a fist at whoever is interrupting him. Arthur ducks to the side and easily dodges the wild punch, drawing his sword with customary speed. He regains his footing and waits for Sir Owain to do the same, the point of his sword ready and levelled at the knight's throat.

Arthur says nothing, waits for Sir Owain to realise who he is. When the shock of recognition crosses Owain's face, followed immediately by horror, Arthur says, tightly, "You will pay for this insult to the lady's honour."

Simple and effective. Merlin approves.

Sir Owain opens his mouth, most probably to make a claim that the 'lady's' honour is far from pure, or something of the sort, but Arthur stops him with an abrupt gesture. "Your reputation precedes you, Sir Owain; regardless, in this instance I am more inclined to believe her word than yours. Now" he lowers the sword and motions for Owain to walk in front of him, one hand tight on a meaty shoulder to discourage any fleeting ideas of escaping, "we shall take this matter to my father."

A jerk of his head indicates Merlin is to follow them, although even he can work that bit out.

Plan accomplished.

—-

The duel is set for the morning of the Harvest Festival, Uther allowing the public to watch instead of limiting it to the knights and various noblemen currently in residence. Gaius and Merlin sit up until the small hours of the morning working out how to break Nimueh's spell, testing the words of power on bowls Gaius no longer has a use for.

By the time the sun casts its clear light over Camelot, there's a heap of bowl fragments littering Gaius' workbench and Merlin has what feels like a swarm of butterflies wreaking havoc on his insides. Everything's going so well, so smoothly, that something is bound to go wrong. It did before, with the stupid scar and Arthur dredging up some observational skills from somewhere, and Merlin can't help being pessimistic.

The threat of execution if he gets caught tends to do that to him.

"Hurry hurry hurry!" Gwen sounds, if possible even more nervous than Merlin, her hands clutching fitfully at her skirt as they practically jog to Sir Owain's quarters. "Llew will keep him occupied in the armoury once he's fitted his armour, and stop him coming back up here for anything, so we should be okay, but for goodness sake _hurry_."

"Gwen, I know," says Merlin through gritted teeth. Opening the door is harder than last time, his nerves making it difficult to keep hold of his magic. With a force of effort the lock clicks, and he stumbles across to the cupboard before he's truly upright, hampered by his skirts. Gwen stands just inside the door, bouncing on her toes with nervous energy as she keeps watch.

The bowl is right where it should be, although the water level has gone down; it's been used recently. Merlin wonders what Owain had told Nimueh, or what the sorceress had asked the knight, but lets go of the thought in favour of concentrating at the job in hand. He moves the bowl to the table, pulling a face at the feel of the dark magic imbued in the stone.

Giving off a faintly malevolent air, the object resists Merlin's first attempts at touching it with his magic. He frowns and tries to ignore Gwen, still bouncing. This is turning out to be more difficult than he'd imagined, or planned for. There's another layer of spells on top of the ones which make the bowl into a scrying charm, that aren't affected by any of the words he's learnt to destroy the thing.

Resting his chin on the table, so his eyes are level with the bowl, Merlin concentrates and focuses his magic. It resists, but then—

_Oh. _That's new.

"Gwen, this is some pretty clever magic."

She doesn't look round, just answers, voice tense. "As in, clever but you've got rid of it and just forgot to use the past tense?"

"_As in_, Sir Owain didn't even have to be here for Nimueh to speak with him. She spelled the bowl to record her messages, like words on parchment, and then to reveal themselves to him when he spoke the words of power she gave him."

"That's all well and good, but get rid of it?!"

"Okay, okay, destroying!" Merlin grins, unable to help himself, because it really is an amazing work of magic. It's almost a shame to get rid of it, but...

He pulls together the words he thinks will unravel the first layer of spells and speaks them, hoping nothing dramatic will happen. The last thing they need is an explosion of magic that'll have half of Camelot... Merlin leans back sharply as Nimueh's image appears, looking just as Merlin remembers her.

He's too shocked to hear all of the message, but catches something about a reward, and Sir Owain's 'rightful place', probably a reference to the knight's well-known resentment of being fourth in line to the family estates.

"She bribed him." Merlin stares at Nimueh's smiling, manipulative face and feels the magic surge to the tip of his tongue. A few guttural words and a sharp gesture later the bowl is a pile of shards, scattered over the tabletop while the liquid filling it holds form for a moment then vanishes like smoke.

Gwen says nothing as they slip out of the room and down towards the hastily constructed duelling ring. She knows how corrupt the court is, how often money changes hands for favours small and large. This goes beyond that; taking aside Merlin's condition, Sir Owain was aiding a sorceress, a known enemy.

The combatants are about to start when Merlin and Gwen enter, facing Uther and saluting with upraised swords. Merlin curtseys and takes the seat reserved for him as the defended (oh how Morgana teased him last night about all this), hands clenching as he takes in Arthur's blank expression.

Gwen mistakes his action for anxiety, and leans over. "He'll win, don't worry. Arthur's the best knight in Camelot."

"I know," Merlin whispers back, "I just feel guilty for getting him into this without even knowing what's going on. He'd probably have helped anyway."

"We can explain after this is done, if you want?"

"I'll have to, if Gaius can't find anything." He sounds hollow to his own ears, flinching as Arthur and Owain begin with a clash of swords. Arthur's carefully controlled mask falls as he attacks, anger now evident in the set of his jaw, the way his strikes are barely within the limits of a formal duel, the way he gives absolutely no quarter.

This goes beyond a simple duel for a woman's honour, Merlin realises.

It's not a happy thought.

Sir Owain stumbles under the speed of the sword wielded against him, manages to right himself and parry Arthur's next jab with a cut of his own. It's to no end; he's already lost and he knows it, now simply trying to survive. Arthur's next stroke is vicious, an uppercut that disarms his opponent and sends Owain's sword spinning away as Arthur's foot deftly hooks around his ankle and drops him neatly to the floor.

Arthur is taut with anger as he once again levels his weapon at Owain's throat, shaking with the obvious and barely suppressed desire to run the knight through there and then. Uther stands and proclaims the terms of the duel for those watching, which happens to be most of Camelot, plus the majority of those visiting for the festival.

Owain lost, and he pays the price of exile.

Not out of the kingdom; a servant's honour, or even that of all the women affected by him is not worth banishing him from Albion. Just from Camelot, a forced return to the estates he has no hope of ever commanding, and Merlin has never been happier to see a man punished. Morgana calls to Gwen and 'Mary', eyes understanding as the three of them wind their way between the throngs of people and back to the castle.

Arthur catches up with them as they mount the steps, still in his armour, sword barely sliding back into it's sheath as he appears in front of them. "Morgana, if I may borrow my maid from you?"

"Come now Arthur, it's a feast day. Surely you can manage by yourself for once?" Her voice is light and teasing; either Morgana hasn't seen the signs of Arthur's impending anger, or she's choosing to ignore them. Merlin steps forward to Arthur's side as the prince speaks again, not sparing a glance for his 'maid.'

"Morgana, do not test me," he says, voice curt. He turns and strides into the entrance hall, back stiff. Merlin glances at Gwen and receives a reassuring nod before hurrying after Arthur, trying desperately to figure out what the hell to say.

Blinding pain forces him to fumble at the wall for support as Arthur turns a corner ahead, angry footsteps carrying him along quickly. Merlin's head feels as if it's about to split in half, his vision swimming as a voice fills his mind. He recognises it through the horrible feeling of a magic not his own crawling over his skin as Nimueh's.

"You disappoint me, young Emrys. You've convinced him to do everything else for you, why not this?" Merlin grits his teeth and says nothing, aware that somehow she would hear. "You have left me with no choice, through your stubbornness." As in the forest those long months ago, Merlin is left with her laughter as the pain slowly fades. _One thing at a time _thinks Merlin pleadingly as he hurries on.

Arthur's door is wide open, he himself standing facing the window. "Arthur-"

"Shut the door." Merlin complies, hands starting to shake. This is not his Arthur, insomuch as he has an Arthur to call his own. This one is cold, icy with a rage Merlin can sense barely held in check under the armour and flesh. "Now, _Merlin_, explain to me why I just fought a duel for your _honour_ when I know I've taught you enough to get out of a situation like the one I found you in."

Merlin opens his mouth to speak but promptly shuts it again as Arthur holds up a hand. "And then, if you please, explain to me why one of the servants saw you and Gwen sneaking out of Sir Owain's chamber, the very knight I was fighting, and also happened to see a **granite** bowl broken into fragments in the table. Tell me _all_, and maybe I won't have you put in the dungeons."

Merlin speaks, telling him everything.

Really. _Everything. _

He starts with his magic, through all of the things he's done for Arthur and Camelot, through meeting Nimueh in the woods, to her plans for him, and consequently for Arthur, right up to Sir Gareth. By the time he's done explaining about the bowl, and the magic he used to shatter it, Arthur could be stone himself for all Merlin can read off him.

Finally whatever it is that Nimueh had done, and that Merlin was too _stupid _to figure out she'd done in his rush to follow Arthur, releases his tongue.

Merlin claps his hands over his mouth and runs.

—-

The dragon wisely assumes that Merlin wants to be left alone, probably because he doesn't run out onto the small ledge demanding help and/or answers, and stays hidden away wherever it is he goes when not confusing Merlin with talk of coins and destiny.

Merlin sits against the cave wall, skirts pooling around him, and waits.

It doesn't take long. Arthur might consider Merlin an idiot, but it's mostly for show these days and he thinks along the lines of someone with more to them than meets the eye, affected by magic, and comes up with a dragon no one else is supposed to know about. He pauses before stepping out onto the ledge, unsure of how to proceed.

Merlin turns his head at the soft scuff of boots. "Come to clap me in irons and haul me off to the dungeons?" He holds his hands out mockingly, wrists pressed together.

"Believe me, Merlin, if I were to clap you in irons it wouldn't be to haul you to the dungeons." Merlin very carefully doesn't look as he gracefully drops down to lean against the opposite wall, sword laid by his side. That comment, whatever it may mean, hit a little too close to Nimueh's plan for Merlin's liking.

"Then... what are you doing here?"

"Tracking you down."

"And?" Arthur simply looks at him. "Arthur, you were there, in your room, about half an hour ago, right?"

"Yes, idiot. I'm surprised you managed to hide from me for that long, actually. You're not as stupid as I thought you were."

Merlin blinks slowly. "But... you were really angry, before. With me, I think. And now you look like you're, well. Like you've beaten me at sparring again. Forgive me for being a bit confused."

"Searching the castle is a good opportunity to get your anger in check."

"Ah." Merlin waits for more, but that appears to be it. Clearly he's going to have to keep the conversation he _never_ wanted to have going, because otherwise he might possibly go mad. "You do realise I was telling the truth? Not that I wanted to, obviously, but still. It's true. All of it."

Arthur crosses his legs and leans his elbows on his knees, fixing Merlin with his typically intense gaze. "You didn't want to tell me the truth about your magic."

So that's what this comes down to. Merlin sighs.

He should've known Arthur's bruised pride would be the first thing on the cards.

"No."

"Why not? I thought—I thought we could trust each other." Arthur's voice is bitter, traces of anger slipping through.

"I trust you with my life, Arthur; if I'd told you about my magic, would you have trusted me with yours?"

"You think that little of me?"

"I think you're that loyal to your father."

"I'm loyal to my friends as well. You should know that by now." He sounds accusatory, like it's been obvious all along. Merlin feels his own anger flare up, finds himself glaring at Arthur.

"If we're friends, as you imply, then why have you been avoiding me for the few weeks?" Arthur opens his mouth to speak but Merlin overrides him. "I'm a _girl_, I've needed all the friends I can manage right now."

"I avoided you to make it easier for Sir Gareth!" snaps Arthur, and isn't that something.

"... What?"

Arthur sighs, looking away. "I thought - well, actually Morgana thought - that if I was always around, and treating you the way I always did, then he'd get the wrong idea."

"The wrong—oh." Merlin swallows. "Why on earth would anyone get that idea?"

The rattling of a chain alerts them to the dragon's imminent entrance. Merlin stays where he is, really not wanting to deal with this in the middle of what he suspects is going to be quite a revelation, but Arthur's on his feet in an instant. Merlin lets himself admire his movements this time; at this point his future can go in any direction, so what's the harm?

"Arthur Pendragon, this is a surprise. I had not thought to see you here for many years to come; this is most auspicious," the dragon rumbles, "although it would perhaps have been better if you were on better terms with the young warlock here. The two of you are two sides of a coi-"

"Could you please, for once, _shut up_?"

The dragon huffs in an indignant way which almost blows them halfway back to the dungeons, and takes off again. Arthur's hand leaves his belt where his sword should be but isn't, all the anger Merlin wants because he can deal with that, and the consequences, better than this eerily calm Arthur once again evident in the lines of his body.

"Arthur-" Merlin breaks off as Arthur turns smartly on one heel, gasps as he's pulled up and held firmly against the rock. His skirts, amazingly, don't rip.

"I know you're dense, Merlin, but surely even you could work out that things between us aren't entirely pure?"

"Well, I—" Evidently Arthur isn't really asking questions, if the way his hands tighten warningly on the fabric at Merlin's shoulder and waist is anything to go by. Merlin, along with the dragon, shuts up.

"I've avoided you because otherwise people, including that knight you were so eager to bed, would've assumed that _I_ was bedding you!" Arthur bends his head until all Merlin can see is unruly blond hair, tangled after the duel. "It wouldn't matter that I'm not, or wasn't; Sir Gareth wouldn't have touched you."

"So..."

"_So_ I made things easier for you and kept out of your way. Less for the gossips to make lies out of." He abruptly lets Merlin go, stepping away to stare out over the depths of the cave. Merlin knows that if he reached out and touched he would end up in irons, or at least with a black eye.

He does the only thing he can think of, and tells the truth.

Again.

In case Arthur missed it the first time, which he appears to have done.

"It was me, not Will, who raised the wind against the raiders. And before that, I helped Lancelot kill the gryphon." Merlin might be reading too much into Arthur's back right now, but it seems as if he tenses a little more at the almost-knight's name. "A-and, um, I helped you kill the afank, the thing poisoning the water."

"When I was in the Caves of Balor, fetching that plant, there was a light."

"That was me too. Although, in my defence, I was unconscious at the time."

Arthur's watching him now, no longer hiding or controlling his anger, no longer even trying to. It's a relief, if Merlin's honest. Now he can be angry as well. "Do you think my father will see the difference?"

"No. But will you?" Arthur says nothing. Merlin smiles bitterly, holds his wrists out again. "Then I guess it's the irons for me after all."

"Merlin," Arthur says warningly, "don't."

"And then what? How will Uther have me killed? Beheaded as a common sorcerer, maybe?" He ignores the further warning on Arthur's face and carries on. "Or perhaps something more showy, and no doubt more painful, for the sorcerer who dared get so close to the Crown Prince of Camelot?"

Before he even notices Arthur move Merlin finds himself shoved against the wall again, wrists caught tightly in Arthur's grip and pressed against the rock at eye level.

"Not close enough." Arthur grits the words out as if he'd rather not say them, but can't help himself.

Merlin knows that feeling, gets it every time he uses magic where he might be seen.

"I won't tell. I'd never—I _won_‘_t_." Arthur sounds broken, another admission wrung from him with only partial consent. Merlin fixes his gaze at a point over Arthur's head and tries to resettle their conversation into something he can understand, something that isn't making his magic ache.

"You're going to miss the feast." Arthur's head snaps up, and he looks at Merlin incredulously.

"_What_?"

"The feast. You're going to miss it if we stay, um, here." Merlin twists his wrists experimentally, but if anything Arthur's grip tightens. "Doing this."

"You're thinking about the feast at a time like this?"

"Arthur, you can't miss it." Merlin's voice is soft, but he feels himself start to tremble as Arthur presses even closer, body tight against Merlin's own in a way that feels dangerously good.

"I can be late," he says, and stops Merlin from contradicting him with the simple method of sealing his lips over Merlin's. Merlin makes a muffled squeak, which he will later deny, and kisses back with everything he has. It's barely enough to meet Arthur, let alone match him; Arthur kisses rough and wild, biting at Merlin's lower lip and sliding his tongue inside to map out every dark place of Merlin's mouth.

It's everything the gentle Gareth wasn't, and it's going to get Arthur _killed._

Merlin isn't proud of it, and never will be, but he uses his magic to push Arthur back.

Arthur looks like he's been punched, just stands there with swollen lips and flushed cheeks. Merlin knows that if he gives Arthur an inch he's going to end up shoved against the wall again, skirts around his waist and too far gone within moments to stop. He holds a hand up between them, his wrists aching, and tells Arthur this, fully expecting Arthur's anger.

Instead, Arthur smirks. "What's the problem with that?"

"Stop being such a prat!" Merlin puts his hands on his hips without realising, something he's done a lot more now that he's actually got _hips. _"I thought I went through this back in your room."

"The magic could be fun as well." Merlin gives Arthur a warning look. "Fine, fine; you'd think I really was threatening to have you beheaded - sorry. I shouldn't joke," he adds, seeing Merlin's face pale. "To be honest, after you told me you have magic, I didn't really listen. It sort of caught my attention. I think you might've done something to stop whatever you were saying making sense, too; I thought it was the firelight, but your eyes flashed the same way as they did when you pushed me away just then."

Merlin vaguely remembers trying to do something like that; good to know it worked.

"Oh. And you're really, you know, alright? Only, you're not threatening me with your sword" Merlin cast a wary look at where it was still lying on the floor, "or yelling at me for lying, or anything, and I have to admit it's worrying me."

"You're worried that I'm _not_ threatening to turn you in?" Arthur looks incredulous. Merlin shrugs and nods slightly. "I'm not my father, Merlin." He says it with such sincerity and conviction, a stony look on his face, that Merlin decides to stop worrying and be thankful that Arthur's so accepting; it might not last, after all, so he'll take this while he can.

_“_Okay, moving on to more important things."

"Like why I don't have you up against the wall anymore?"

Merlin swallows. "Like that, yes. I, um, the the thing is..." Arthur starts advancing on him, his intent obvious. "Ifwehavesexmymagicwillkillyou!" Arthur stops and blinks.

"What. The. Hell? That's the most ridiculous thing you've ever- well, not the _most _ridiculous thing, but certainly the most ridiculous excuse not to sleep with me I've ever heard." Anyone else would look insulted; Arthur just looks like he's paused for a second. Which he has, because Merlin has to hold up both hands and press them against Arthur's chest to keep them a vital few inches apart.

"I'm serious. Nimueh bound some of her magic to my own, as part of the spell that did this." He moves a hand to gesture roughly at his current state of femininity, hurriedly replacing it when Arthur leans forward testingly. "She meant for me to tell you about it, and for you to have a noble moment-"

"Only a moment?"

"In between your prattish ones, yes, stop interrupting." Arthur grins and stops pressing against Merlin's hands, raising his eyebrows to prompt him on. "You'd have a noble moment, offer to 'help', which is exactly what she wants, and the bit of her magic linked to mine would use my magic to kill you. And probably me, but that's not really the issue."

"It's part of it, you idiot. If you're as powerful as she clearly believes you to be, then it stands to reason she'd want you dead as well as the Crown Prince."

"... You might have something there." Arthur leers and presses forward, the gap between them narrowing in an alarming manner. Merlin can feel the rush of magic grow, the thread of Nimueh's twisting it into something that wants to _take and devour and kill _with an intensity Merlin can't quite shut out. He realises it's been quiescent up until now, the flashes of too-hot desire he's previously felt around Arthur **nothing **compared to this.

_Those flashes were just me_, thinks Merlin as he tilts his head to let Arthur carry on doing whatever it is that feels so good to his neck, _which makes things a bit complicated. _

Arthur bites down at the join of Merlin's neck and shoulder, and his magic surges up to spark at his fingertips. The small part of Merlin not making choked off whimpers and curling his hands in the fabric of Arthur's shirt vaguely remembers there's a reason this is a bad idea, and that Arthur's not listening to him, but then Arthur sucks at the bitemark he's made and the last vestiges of coherent thought flee.

The dragon's roar makes them jerk apart, both breathing heavily. Arthur looks angry, turning his head to send a glare towards the beast that would probably wipe out the last Great Dragon in Albion if it wasn't such a tough old thing. Merlin stares fixedly at the side of Arthur's head, forcing the magic down and _away. _

"Young warlock, as untried as you are, I thought you had more sense than this!" Merlin's never heard the dragon shout like this before, not even when he's being particularly rude and demanding answers so he doesn't have to make a difficult decision.

"It's not him, it's the sorceress' magic!" yells back Arthur equally loudly, not even a little intimidated, which isn't all that surprising. The dragon shifts in his rock perch, claws grinding into the stone. He looks somewhat more understanding - at least, Merlin thinks he does.

It's a little difficult to tell, what with it being a dragon and all.

"Why did you not come to me with this, Merlin?" If he didn't know better, and hadn't been down here so many times trying to get answers from the infuriatingly cryptic dragon, Merlin would swear his voice is tender.

"Because every time I come down here to ask for help, you give me some ramblings about Arthur and me being two sides of the coin, or our destinies being intertwined, or something, and then fly off to your ledge!" It's possible the shouting is contagious.

"With the demise of my kind, and my imprisonment here, my magic is severely weakened," continues the dragon, seemingly ignoring Merlin's outburst, "but I can still help."

"How?" Arthur's direct and authoritative tone is at odds with the way his hands are bracketing Merlin's waist, thumbs pressing into the hollows of his hipbones in the best way possible.

Merlin steps back and twists out of Arthur's grasp gently.

It doesn't do to tempt magic, after all.

"I can make it so that Nimueh's foul magic does not entice Merlin's to kill you, but burns itself instead."

"If you have magic, why haven't you freed yourself." Merlin regrets the question as soon as it leaves his mouth, wondering why on earth he's interrupting at such a crucial moment.

The dragons resettles his wings the way he always does before capitalizing random words and confusing the living daylights out of Merlin. "The Laws of Magic are Complex and Varied; I am bound by them as much as you are, young Warlock. To help myself is forbidden; to help the young Pendragon is allowed."

Arthur looks impressed. Clearly this is the first time he's been on the receiving end of the dragonsramblings. He'll learn.

"And that will make it safe for us?" Arthur catches hold of Merlin, without looking, just before he gets out of arms reach. He doesn't do anything, simply keeps a firm hold on Merlin's arm.

"Yes," booms the dragon, stretching his wings. "It will not, however, be enough to keep the other effects of Nimueh's magic from coming to bear. What those are, I cannot say, and this is all I can do."

"It will be enough." Arthur leaves no room for Merlin to argue, interrupt again, or even question what he thinks he's doing.

"Then I shall prepare. I will inform you when my preparations are complete, and it is safe." The dragon flaps and then, like usual, throws a parting comment over his shoulder as he vanishes up into the vaulted heights of the cave. "This is all part of your destiny, young warlock, another piece fitting into the-"

"Map of my future, I know." Merlin sighs and tries to ignore the way Arthur is looking at him, a disturbing mix of fondness and predatory. He fails. "I'm getting worried about you."

Arthur's fingers start stroking over Merlin's wrist in a most distracting manner. "And why is that?"

"You haven't arrested me for lying about my _magic,_ you haven't insulted me in a pretty long time - for us, anyway - and you're looking at me like... like I'm special. And not in a bad way, either."

"Are any of those things bad?" Arthur sighs at Merlin's pointed look. "Fine. I might, just possibly, have been waylaid in my search for you by Morgana. And Gwen. They had some things to say to me."

"They wouldn- what am I saying, of course they would." Arthur starts to slide his hand further up Merlin's arm, pushing the sleeve of his dress aside smoothly. "No no no, stop it. You've got to get yourself into your fancy coat and get to the feast, or we won't have to worry about Nimueh's magic because Uther will have already killed you."

Arthur... well, he pouts. That's the only word Merlin has to describe it. "He wouldn't kill me. Chastise, maybe, but not kill."

"Lord Kynan and his daughter - marriageable daughter - are the guests of honour tonight."

"Ah. Death might be foreseeable, in that case."

Something not nearly so human as _laughter_ goes unheard as they hurry away to make Arthur presentable for the feast, Merlin only just able to keep out of reach of Arthur's teasing hands, and the dragon settles down to craft a spell using his diminished magic in only a few short hours.

How they're going to stop the patently obvious bond of tension and want between them from being noticed by all and sundry, he doesn't care to imagine - although maybe he could have told them what else Nimueh's enchantment was woven to do...

The dragon snorts. When has he ever been that helpful?

Besides, it'll be fun for them both.

—-

  
Arthur has never been to a more frustrating feast, and for the Crown Prince of Camelot that's saying something. Uther has, predictably, sat him next to Lord Kynan's daughter, with orders to make sure she is happy and content. This would be more bearable if she wasn't _twelve_ and at the age where any man who deigns to talk to her makes her simper and _giggle_.

It goes without saying what a man who looks like Arthur does to her.

Sometime during the third course Arthur catches sight of Merlin, moving between the rows of lesser nobles with considerably more grace than he usually does, and has to clench his hands on the arms of his chair to stop himself moving. Whatever it is that Nimueh's spell was designed to do, other than kill him, it appears to be working; the feeling rushing through his body feels similar to the rush he'd felt when Merlin had pushed him back with magic.

In honour of Lord Kynan's daughter, whose birthday this past summer means she is now of marriageable age (as Merlin had oh-so-helpfully reminded him at the worst possible moment), a bard has been commissioned to write and perform an appropriately long and dull poem. Ceridwen she may be called, but Arthur does _not _feel blessed to be forced to listen to this stuff when he has more important things to be doing.

Five verses, far too many pauses and a lot of emotive music later, Uther calls for dancing, as relief before the rest of the epic poem. Arthur slides on his 'gracious Prince' mask and asks Ceridwen to dance as Lord Kynan leads Morgana out, who looks as happy as Arthur feels about the whole thing.

Ceridwen dances as she talks; a lot of enthusiasm, but with annoying girlishness, her (frequently wrong) steps interspersed with comments about the other guests that are either shockingly indiscreet gossip or her idea of clever conversation.

Arthur isn't sure which would be worse, and focuses on not strangling her with one of the ridiculous ribbons draped over her dress.

Then he catches sight of Merlin again, and forgets about the simpering girl in his arms immediately. Arthur had assumed that Merlin hasn't been wearing his scarf because it belongs to _Merlin_ and not whatever he's been calling himself for nearly three months, but right now the logic couldn't be further from his mind because all he can see is pale, perfect skin marred by a single red mark, nowhere near concealed by the neck of Merlin's dress.

Arthur's overriding thought as he dances is: _I made that mark._

He put that there, on Merlin's soft skin, and now everyone can see it. Merlin trades his empty tray of goblets for a fresh one, looking round as Gwen nudges him. She says something, too far away for Arthur to hear, but the way Merlin's free hand flies to his neck makes it obvious what it was.

Merlin's eyes find Arthur's, and any pretence at resisting the pull between them that they've been managing crumbles into dust.

Arthur knows his gaze is burning, doesn't try and hold it down, because Merlin's is the same. Ceridwen says something inane and childish, Merlin licks his lips, and Arthur thinks he'd be willing to give Lord Kynan whatever he's asking for in the negotiations _now_ just so he can get out of here and have Merlin against a wall again.

The dance ends, another one starting almost immediately, and Arthur hands Ceridwen off to his father without really paying attention, so fixed is he on the slope of Merlin's stupid _hips_ in his dress. Then Morgana steps on his foot and positions his hands for the next pattern.

"Keep looking at him like that and we'll be expecting you to take him in the middle of the room."

"And you tell me off for being crass."

Morgana's smile is sharp, her eyes mocking. "I'm only saying. Anyone would think you want him."

"Don't you mean her?" Arthur says warningly as another pair come slightly too close within hearing range, gritting his teeth as he sees Merlin smiling at Lord Kynan, of all people.

"Whatever you say, Arthur." She narrows her look, seemingly contemplating something through the next round of steps. "If you hurt him, or send him away once he's back as he should be, I will make sure the Pendragon line ends with you."

Arthur does not look down just in case. "Why do you care?" He asks, conveniently forgetting that he hadn't thought about Merlin like _that, _let alone cared who Merlin did _that_ with (that's new, and not a nice idea. Arthur makes a note to avoid thinking about Merlin with anyone else from now on, not that it'll be an issue)up until relatively recently.

"Upsetting Merlin would upset Gwen, and I do _not _want that. She's had a hard enough time as it is." Arthur raises an eyebrow. Morgana steps gracefully on his foot again. _Hard._ "Enough of that. Now, if you want to make your excuses to your father, I'll keep the little twit occupied for the rest of the evening."

That makes Arthur suspicious. "You never do anything nice for me, and I'm pretty sure this counts as nice." If 'nice' means giving him images of Merlin spread out across his bed, - girl or boy, no matter - willing to do any number of things any number of times, then yes, she's being nice.

"I like Merlin," replies Morgana smartly, "he's much more tolerable than you. Besides" she adds with a wicked smirk, "he'll wear you out, and you won't be quite so insufferable tomorrow."

Arthur opens his mouth to protest and tell Morgana that if anyone's going to be worn out, it'll be Merlin, but the words freeze in his throat as a voice makes itself known in is head.

::_I have completed the spell, young prince. It will last as long as there is dark sorcery bound to Merlin, and no longer._::

That they both hear the dragon goes unsaid; Arthur can feel another presence in his head, through the dragon's, one that swirls and glitters like gold.

_Merlin._

Arthur searches him out, sees him still being talked at by Lord Kynan. Hm. Time for that to stop. "I believe I will do what you so kindly suggest, my lady." Morgana's eyes are bright and knowing, her curtsey a shade less teasing than usual. "Save your end of the bargain for tomorrow; I can't promise you'll get it, mind, but I'll probably be in a better mood to hear it."

"Of course. Go, before Lord Kynan decides to take him- _her_ to bed." Morgana laughs at Arthur's expression, turning away to no doubt gossip with Gwen and plan what she wants in return for spending the evening with a girl who will never match Morgana's intelligence or wit.

Then Lord Kynan touches Merlin's arm, and Arthur promptly forgets about Morgana, Ceridwen and everything else that isn't _Merlin _and _mine _and _don_‘_t fucking touch him._ Arthur's about to stride over and pull Merlin out of the room when something, no doubt part of Nimueh's spell meant to ensure that once they've started this, they'll finish it, makes him pause.

Arthur dragging his manservant away looks fine and proper; no one who knows Merlin's total incompetence as a servant would question it. But if he drags a _maid_ away, well. That's another thing entirely. Checking his angry stride into something more leisurely and befitting a feast, he forces himself to ignore the way Merlin is completely tense and make small talk with various nobles instead.

He purposely goes in the opposite direction, choosing to draw out the delicious tension coursing through him. It's like being on the tourney field, the adrenaline and the heightened senses. Except this time, instead of being attuned to his opponent's attacks, he's increasingly aware of every single movement Merlin makes, even if he's out of sight.

By the time Arthur gets close enough to see Merlin and Lord Kynan again, he knows that Merlin is starting to get angry with the lord, his back stiff and the hand not still balancing the tray of wine clenching the fabric of his skirts. One of Lord Kynan's hands is still resting heavily on Merlin's arm, and he doesn't move it as Arthur steps alongside them.

"Ah, your highness. I was just telling this young woman here about my own estates." Arthur's jaw tightens. He knows _exactly _what that means; Kynan wants Merlin to be part of the negotiations, a small token of regard that won't appear on any official treaties but will most surely be granted if Uther sees the way Lord Kynan's eyes are wandering all over Merlin's body.

Arthur lets none of his anger, or indeed anything else he is feeling, show as he replies. "I understand you have some especially fine hunting there?"

"Yes, my lord." Arthur discreetly rests his hand at the small of Merlin's back, trying to communicate the necessity of being somewhere more private and preferably more horizontal _right now_, although the horizontal part it optional because Arthur would sort-of-kind-of-really like Merlin up against a wall again.

It's possible that you can't convey all of that through a simple press of hand against fabric, but by the way Merlin leans back into the touch he understands enough.

Arthur waits for Lord Kynan to pause in his wittering about deer, or something, and politely interrupts. "If your lordship would enjoy it, I would be honoured to take you hunting around Camelot." _And not bring you back _he thinks with anger, because the hand keeping Merlin in place and close by hasn't moved at all.

"It would be my honour, your highness." Kynan half bows, but Arthur catches the flicker of his gaze from Arthur's hand, twitching perilously close to his belt knife without him even noticing, to his own hand on (he thinks) an inconsequential maid's arm. "Would tomorrow afternoon allow for a good ride?"

Arthur has to use all of his willpower to not lay Lord Kynan flat on the floor with a good uppercut and throw Merlin over his shoulder just to get _out of here_. He understands perfectly the words going unsaid here; _the afternoon would be preferable, your highness, because I_‘_ll need the morning to recover from getting drunk and bedding your maid._

It's lucky that Uther chooses that moment to appear, because the small noise of protest Merlin makes as Kynan's grip tightens is almost enough for Arthur to ruin the negotiations of the past week.

If this feeling of absolute possession and _want _is part of Nimueh's spell, Arthur has to give her a modicum of grudging respect. She really does know how to make two people fall into unbridled lust.

Arthur pulls himself out of visions of stripping that dress off Merlin (probably not thanks to Nimueh) in time to hear his father speaking. "... of course, I would be delighted to join you. Arthur?"

"Of course, father. We had agreed on tomorrow afternoon." Arthur's pointed look makes it clear to Kynan that he has the morning to recover from the wine only, but before the lord can retaliate with an answering look, probably along the lines of 'do you want those extra soldiers or not?", Uther tilts his head at Arthur, looking concerned.

"Are you quite well? You look a little flushed."

"Probably too much wine," jokes Kynan, and Arthur allows himself am inward flash of victory. The lord's jovial tone and smile are clearly forced, the knuckles on the hand holding his goblet white with strain.

"I think not. Arthur, you had better retire; you need to be fit for leading the hunting party tomorrow." Arthur bows, his head filling with ideas and images of what he is finally free to do to Merlin. Uther points at Merlin and adds sharply: "You, go with him. See that he is safely into bed, and call Gaius if needs be."

"Yes, your highness." Merlin curtsies with far more alacrity than he has ever bowed, Kynan's hand jerking away from his arm as if burnt. Arthur nods to their guest of honour, forcing himself not to grab Merlin's hand and run as they thread their way through groups of other guests.

The great doors beckon, corridors and Arthur's bedchamber only moments beyond.

What sounds remarkably like draconic laughter speeds Arthur's steps.

——In a show of willpower that will probably never be repeated, they keep their hands off each other for the walk to Arthur's chambers. Arthur watches Merlin out of the corner of his eye and suspects he's controlling more than just the same urges that Arthur himself is; tapestries rise in a non-existent breeze, torches flare as they hurry by, and he would swear Merlin's eyes glow gold every now and then.

Merlin pauses at the door to Arthur's room to tell a passing servant that, apparently, 'his highness won't require waking up in the morning, orders of the king.' Arthur spares a moment to admire Merlin's foresight, then wraps a hand around his wrist and yanks him into the room.

"If he saw that-"

"He'd assume what everyone else is already thinking."

Merlin lifts an eyebrow. "True. What's with you and pushing me against walls?"

"It's not a wall," Arthur points out, "it's a door. Why, are you objecting?" He pushes Merlin's legs apart slightly with his thigh, pressing _in _and _up._ Merlin's breathing quickens, eyes going wide.

"Not—not especially, but there's a perfectly good bed over there." Arthur takes a certain amount of satisfaction in making Merlin sound breathless in such a short time, but due to probably being helped along by the spell, decides he can do better.

"Are you—did you and Gar—I mean—" Where did _that _come from, and at such a moment?

Merlin's got some of his composure back, rolling his eyes. "We did, you prat, and it's not really polite to ask."

"I was just wondering! I don't want to hurt you, or anything. I'm not in the habit of deflowering maidens, whatever the sorceress thinks."

"I'm not a maiden in either body, thank you _very _much," says Merlin tartly. Arthur stares at him.

"But, the unicorn..."

"If enough people believe in a legend, it can become true. The legend of the unicorns was written by some very narrow-minded men who either didn't know or ignored the...other way of no longer being virginal."

"What—" the dawning comprehension on Arthur's makes Merlin burst into laughter, dropping his head onto Arthur's shoulder and shaking with it. "I'm not sure I like that," he hears himself say, and just like that the cloying sense of magic rises around them. It's much stronger than it was before, at the feast, and much more invasive. Arthur can feel it on his skin, sliding over him as Merlin raises his head and looks at him with eyes tinged gold.

"Is that so?" Nimueh's magic seems to have affected him more; he looks nothing like the Merlin Arthur knows and gets exasperated with. The Merlin looking back at him now, caught between the door and Arthur, is a fey thing, wild-eyed with a teasing mouth, brazen in the way he tilts forward to press himself against Arthur.

Arthur groans, and Merlin falls back onto the door with a thud. "This is what the dragon meant, isn't it, about the rest of her spell." He's battling something, obvious in the way his eyes flash gold and his hands, either holding Arthur close or keeping him a vital distance away, clench on the solid muscles of his arms.

"I imagine so. Are you alright?"

The tainted magic around them objects to this conversation, energy wasted on words when it could be used for other things. It curls over Arthur's skin with more pressure, filling his senses with a metallic smell, glimmers of _something_ at the corner of his vision, the bits not taken up by Merlin.

Merlin who looks like everything Arthur has ever wanted, and why did it take him being turned into a girl for him to see it?

The admission gives the magic an opening, and in any other circumstances Arthur would be horrified at how easy it is for him to be caught in a spell. Not now, though, not when he's being compelled to nip and suck at the column of Merlin's neck, to make the already-fading mark he'd left there bigger and bolder, to elicit those delightful gasps from that pale throat.

Arthur frees his mouth long enough to ask: "Do you trust the dragon?" then lowers his head again, trailing his tongue over the line of faint marks he's just made. Merlin is silent, breath coming in uneven bursts. Arthur pulls back to look at him, not enough to lose any body contact, but enough to see Merlin's face.

"Do you?" Merlin's voice is shaky, his control still holding but minimal.

"_Yes._" Arthur sees the exact moment Merlin gives in, lets Nimueh's magic take control. His flickering eyes settle, the ring of gold the only outward sign that he's probably capable of freeing himself from Arthur's hold with a mere word. Arthur half-expects him to do this, for Nimueh to have meant for Merlin to kill him swiftly, to be stuck as a girl for ever once Arthur is dead.

Instead Merlin moves his hands to the back of Arthur's neck and pulls him in for a searing kiss, body pressed tight against his and breaking the last of Arthur's well-honed control into fragments. Crown Prince or not, there is _no way_ he could resist the slide of Merlin's tongue against his own, or the heat of his lips.

It's every bit as intense at their kiss in the dragon's cave, except warmer and with more chance of continuing beyond.

At least, Arthur had thought there was, but Merlin is pushing him back again - with hands pressed flat against his chest this time, not magic - and moving away from the door. "What the hell?" says Arthur somewhat hoarsely, "I thought we'd got past the pushing away part."

"We have. But while I still have a say in the matter, I'd rather not do this against a wall." He pauses, eyes flicking over Arthur's body in a way he'd be willing to give pretty much anything for the proper Merlin to do. "At least, not the first time."

"Oh. Good."

Merlin grins and steps out of reach as Arthur makes a grab for him, skirts swirling but somehow not tripping over them. Arthur growls, which only makes Merlin grin even more, and applies diversionary tactics. Namely, he feints going one way, changes direction swiftly, and gets Merlin pinned against one of the posts on his bed.

Why that should be a catalyst, as compared to what else they've been doing Arthur can't and doesn't care to understand, but it is, and he finds himself divested of coat, tunic and skirt in very quick succession, Merlin's fingers like brands as they flick over fastenings and slide the clothing off.

Arthur turn Merlin round, kisses the back of his neck just to hear another delightful gasp and see the way he grasps tightly at the bedpost. The laces keeping the dress tight on Merlin's body are a nuisance, keeping Arthur from _skin_, and he works at getting them undone.

At least, he tries to.

Merlin gasps and laughs, twisting his arm back so he can stop Arthur. "That's the wrong way, you idiot. How have you ever bedded a woman if you can't get her dress off?"

"They usually did it themselves" Arthur says, then sucks in air as Merlin's hand returns to hold the bedpost and the laces start coming undone, revealing the line of Merlin's spine with tantalising slowness. He swallows hard at the knowledge that Merlin has been bare underneath his dress the entire night. Merlin's back is tantalisingly pale, broken only by a few long healed scars that Arthur makes sure to pay attention to as he sinks to his knees.

Merlin groans as Arthur kiss the curve at the base of his spine, hands solid and hot on his hips as he gets turned around and pressed back against the post again. Arthur looks up at him, arousal gliding through his blood, renewing his grip on those tempting hips. Merlin's smile has a twist to it that makes a curl of something darker makes itself known the pit of Arthur's stomach.

"Well well, look at this. The Prince of Camelot on his knees." It's not Merlin's voice, but it's not Nimueh's either. It's what Merlin could become, given time and the freedom to be the sorcerer Arthur knows he has the potential to be. Even with the feminine tone it's powerful and more than a little possessive.

It turns the arousal to burning lust, Merlin's eyes reflecting the animalistic need Arthur knows is showing in his own. He pulls sharply on the fabric of Merlin's dress and watches it pool to the floor, letting his gaze slide up, up, up to where Merlin is still looking down at him with that mocking expression.

Neither of them remember much after that. The night dissolves into a dizzy haze of sweat, sounds and skin, all bound together by the sweep of magic. They can feel it in the very atmosphere around them every time they pull in much needed air, but more than that Merlin can feel it tangling around the sensations Arthur wrings from him, body arching and moving almost without his consent, and Arthur can feel it sparking from Merlin's fingers where they clutch at his back.

Nimueh knows her magic; Merlin speaks nonsense words, harsh guttural syllables that Arthur cannot understand but nevertheless fears, reacts to them the same way he reacts to everything that he fears: he conquers. Catches Merlin's wrists and presses them above his head, bites his way down Merlin's neck to reach high, flushed peaks that beg for attention from his mouth.

Merlin groans, the words meant to kill spilling from his mouth and getting caught in the dragon's web of old magic. Arthur's tongue slides lower and lower to touch against what is apparently a vitally sensitive part of the female anatomy, wringing a sobbing cry from Merlin and making the words glow with the fire of a dozen torches.

Light and heat is mostly what they will remember; words that bind instead of kill, glimpses of the way Merlin's legs curled around Arthur's waist to the sound of an ornament breaking, the way Merlin's magic had slid over them like liquid metal and replaced blood with fire as they moved together.

Deep below the castle the dragon senses the swirl and roar of magic being allowed to race wild between two people who really should've got a clue before now, and rests his head on his claws contentedly.

Then lifts it again in irritation. Consummating the Bond between two Souls Intertwined by Destiny is all well and good, but this many times?

Anyone would think they actually _like_ each other.

——

Arthur wakes to the dim dawn light, the sound of birds, and the uneasy feeling of someone who has been exposed to a lot of magic and wasn't quite ready for it. He props himself up to look at Merlin's disgrace of a bedhead, and thinks, _I wasn_‘_t quite ready for you either. _

Because it's such a nice morning, and because he's still a bit of a prat, he pokes Merlin awake.

Merlin says "nngrmph?" and turns over, rubbing his eyes in a way anyone not the dignified Crown Prince would think adorable. "You, and by that I mean _we, _are not meant to be awake this early," he complains, pushing himself into a sitting position. Arthur blinks.

"And you're not meant to be a girl." Then: "Is that my nightshirt?"

"I got cold," he replies through a yawn. "What do you mean, not a-" Merlin looks down. Arthur looks with him, and probably appreciates the sight a whole lot more. As good as Merlin had looked in the dress last night (Arthur must remember to thank Gwen for that, because there is _no way_ Merlin had picked it for himself), and as even better he'd looked out of the dress, Merlin first thing in the morning might be Arthur's favourite.

Might have been for some time, actually, although not quite like this.

The plain cotton nightshirt clings and hints in all the right places, the curves of Merlin's still-female body highlighted in silhouette by the fire impossibly still warming his chambers. It's an entirely glorious sight, and it makes Arthur's mouth water.

This, of course, leads to Arthur silencing Merlin's rant about blasted sorceress' who can't get even one spell right, and isn't it time he was allowed the easy way out for once? by kissing him senseless and sliding down between his legs to repeat the application of his tongue to certain soft folds and that deliciously responsive nub that had made Merlin tense and scream, and possibly make the walls of the room shake.

Only after Merlin recovers from nearly blacking out, returns the favour to Arthur with similar results, and they kiss until both feel lightheaded does Arthur answer Merlin's broken-off question. "Yes, you're still a girl."

Merlin hits him.

Arthur really regrets teaching him how to do that.

"I'd- oh, gods, _no._" Whatever Merlin was about to say is lost as his face contorts in pain, body curling inwards. Arthur leans over him in sudden fear, remembering a time like this not so long ago.

"Merlin?"

"It's the spell, it's—oh gods, it _hurts._" Merlin shakes- no, shudders, his whole body wracked with spasms accompanied by pained whimpers. They aren't sounds Arthur _ever_ wants Merlin to make while in his bed - or anywhere else, for that matter. He reaches out to touch Merlin's shoulder but jerks his hand back in shock.

Merlin's skin is... well, burning, but not the _right_ kind of burning. It's more like an ice burn, the sort Arthur gets when he isn't careful with his armour in the winter and lets it touch bare skin for too long. It's white-hot and, honestly, terrifying. Arthur pulls the bedcovers over Merlin, watches his eyelids flicker as he fights whatever this is.

No. Not whatever. Nimueh's spell, it has to be. "I'll get Gaius," he says, and tries not to notice how shaky his voice is. A Prince _does not_ lose his calm, especially not over a servant-

"Like that's bothered you before." Merlin sounds raspy and far too quiet, but as insubordinate as ever. Arthur smiles tightly. "Don't get Gaius; he'd only worry, and he can't—he can't do anything."

"Is this her doing?"

"Yes." Merlin twists and arches, breathing going shallow as his already pale skin slowly goes dead white. "I think the dragon's spell delayed it, or is drawing the change out."

"What can I do?" Arthur has the suspicion that short of finding Nimueh and demanding she turn Merlin back to how he's supposed to be _faster_ (in which case she's likely to take advantage and kill him herself), he won't be able to do anything. It's not a comforting thought.

"You could get the hell out," answers Merlin, who now appears to be glowing. Honestly, _glowing. _And- wait, what?

Arthur stares down at him, more than a little disturbed by how much he wants to touch but setting that aside for another, more opportune time. "If you think I'm leaving then you've clearly forgotten how attached I've become to you. Which is ridiculous, because you're an idiot and a buffoon and the worst manservant I've ever had."

"Arthur." Merlin's voice is soft but steady, the latticework of magic visible under his skin only serving to make Arthur want to reach out again. He may have a little bit of a thing for magic, or for Merlin's magic, both of which are thoughts he sets aside. "This could be dangerous."

"I _don_‘_t care,_" replies Arthur fiercely.

"But I do."

"Clearly you've also forgotten how stubborn I am." He risks touching Merlin's cotton clad shoulder, bites his lip at the coldness emanating from it. "I'm _staying_, and I'm the Prince here, so you can't argue."

"Wouldn't dream of it" is the last thing Merlin says for quite some time, coherent words abandoned in favour of pathetic cries and gasping syllables that make the hairs on the back of Arthur's neck stand on end. Merlin's hands clench in the sheets, knuckles as white as his face as he battles whatever the spell is doing to him. Arthur can see it happening, can hear it, but cannot do anything to stop it.

He _hates_it.

Hates that this is happening to Merlin, who's never done anything other than help and protect him, who would seemingly have rather stayed a girl for the rest of his life than risk that Arthur would do as Nimueh predicted, who has been around for so long but never received the attention he deserves from Arthur.

Arthur has to force himself not to run and get Gaius, tells himself that Merlin is right not to worry the physician with something he can't fix. He settles down next to Merlin, lying alongside but not touching, tries to squash the urge to go and hit something, anything, even the wall as Merlin starts trembling.

"T-this is going to take a w-w-while," he gasps out, eyes once again gold-rimmed as he turns just enough to look at Arthur. "It's not meant" gasp "to be a pleas-" gasp "pleasant process."

"I am _not_-"

"_Arthur._" Arthur shuts up, because somewhere along the line he actually started listening to Merlin. "If you stay you'll only" gasp "get angry, and when you get an-" gasp "angry it never goes well for me."

"So, what, I'm just supposed to leave you here?" His voice doesn't break, it _doesn_‘_t._

"For your own safety, **yes.**"

"Merlin, I seriously doubt you could do anything to harm me." Arthur tries to sound as derisive as he usually does when saying something of that sort, and mostly succeeds. It's comforting, in a way.

"I'm holding back more magic than Uther has ever destroyed; do you really want to test me?" Merlin sounds stronger, angrier, like he had the previous night when looking at Arthur down on his knees. For a moment, a bare moment, his eyes flare fully gold and the stones of Camelot shake. Then his eyes squeeze shut, body tensing as he fights the lingering effects of Nimueh's magic.

Arthur lets out a heavy breath, wanting to argue but knowing his decision is made for him. He tucks a sweat damp strand of Merlin's girl-hair behind his ear, careful not to touch skin, and slides off the bed. The lack of comments about his laziness while he dresses makes something in his chest, already perilously tight, twist even further.

A glance at Merlin as he shrugs into his coat makes him stop. The web of magic has expanded, Merlin lying lax in the middle of it, like he can't fight any more. Arthur is by his side in an instant; he knows desperation is in his eyes, knows it because he feels as he did after Merlin drank the poison and Gaius told him in a gentle voice why Uther had looked at him that way.

Merlin opens his eyes, the gold almost painfully bright. "_Go,_ you prat. Train, yell at your knights. Take Lord Kynan hunting and accidentally shoot him."

"That last had better only be a suggestion." Merlin smiles, barely.

"Well, he was very persistent. And he did keep touching me."

"Consider him dead." Arthur tells himself he doesn't sound jealous, and doesn't look like a lovestruck fool worrying over his beloved. Yet again he's only partially successful. Merlin's smile grows, but becomes a grimace as the glow flares. It touches Arthur's hand where he rests it slightly too close to Merlin, and he stares at the vivid mark.

"I'll make sure no one can get in, don't worry."

Arthur finds himself propelled towards the door, and cannot, no matter how hard he searches in his head for the rest of the day, find it in himself to ever want to betray Merlin's magic. The door shuts firmly behind him and he sags back against it, hands braced to keep himself upright.

This must be part of the spell, he thinks, must be part of Nimueh's spell that has also been delayed, this feeling in his chest that makes him want to tear into shreds anyone else who dares touch Merlin; Kynan and Gareth and Nimueh.

Then he remembers the poison, and Ealdor, and stops on his way to pick a weapon with which to beat his knights.

Oh.

Arthur might not like being a fool, but he's starting to understand that for Merlin he'll be just about anything.

—-

Merlin wakes up with the feeling of being jolted back in time, because he feels exactly as he did all that time ago when he'd sat in front of Gaius and had to put up with an interrogation when he was feeling rather less than his best. He aches all over, skin feeling like it's stretched too tightly over his slightly different body.

Arthur's bed is a much better place to stretch out and try to get rid of some of the tension making him wince than his own would be, and Merlin takes full advantage. By the shadows on the wall the sun has just moved past midday, which means Arthur won't be back for quite a while yet; still sleepy and more than a little disorientated, Merlin follows a curious thread of his magic to Arthur and through it watches Arthur point the hunting party into the forest.

Merlin smiles as Arthur glares at the back of Lord Kynan's head, who looks none too happy about being flanked by several of Camelot's knights. Then the vision vanishes as Merlin wakes up properly and remembers he shouldn't be able to do that.

"_Fantastic_." He untangles the sheets from where his pained twisting had wrapped them around his body, then stands.

And immediately stumbles as he tries to walk briskly towards the door, conveniently forgetting he's dressed only in one of Arthur's nightshirts. Clearly he's going to have to relearn the equilibrium of his old body before he can go anywhere.

—-

When Merlin does manage to regain his balance, and puts on actual clothes (his own; a summoning spell was necessary, and about the limit of what control he has right now, but it had worked) he makes his way down to the cave, thankful that most of the servants are either clearing up after last night's feast or preparing for the third and final one tonight.

"Hello?" he calls out into the cavernous space. "I wanted to thank you for what you did last night." The clanking of the chain and flap of leathery wings precedes the dragon as he emerges from the gloom, settling onto his customary rock and eyeing Merlin.

"Ensuring the Destiny of the young Pendragon and yourself, so that you both continue on the Path that Fate has—"

"Okay, yes, I know. Would it kill you to accept my thanks without capitalising anything?"

The dragon scrapes his claws over the rock with what would be irritation in a human, but looks like an imminent sign of fire breathing and roaring in a dragon. "When you're chained into a cave underneath a castle by a fool of a king, see how much you can think of to keep yourself occupied."

Merlin's never thought about it like that before. The dragon nods, following his thought with an ease born of many interactions. "Young warlock, you have much to learn."

"All I'm concerned with right now is learning this body." He props the burning torch against the wall and drops down to sit cross-legged at the edge of the ledge, trying not to think about the way he's sore where there isn't a place to be sore anymore.

"Show me your magic," the dragon rumbles, making the dragon equivalent of a chuckle when Merlin blanches and stares. "I can aid you in this, if you are willing to listen and not shout when something is not immediately clear."

And that's how Merlin spends his first day back as a guy, actually listening to the dragon and taking the time to work out what he means when he says stuff like 'let the sound of the Earth guide you' or 'Destiny is a web into which you are woven.'

Merlin's really starting to be concerned about how unflappable he is.

—-  
Gaius is not expecting Arthur to crash through the door to his workroom as the light fades from the sky.

He is not expecting Arthur to stride past him without so much as a nod to fling open the door to Merlin's small room.

And he most certainly isn't expecting Arthur to stride back to stand in front of him, place one hand on his hip and the other on the hilt of his sword and ask, very quietly (and therefore very dangerously): "I checked my chambers, and he was gone. Where is he?"

Gaius considers asking 'who', but decides he likes life without any injuries. "Am I to understand that he spent the night with you?" It does not, however, prevent him from being curious.

"Yes," answers Arthur tightly, "and as you can see, I'm alive. Merlin, on the other hand-"

"Is alive and well and back as he should be." Arthur turns sharply, hand not leaving his sword. Gaius peers over his shoulder and sees a Merlin he's not seen... well, ever, truly. He's pretty sure the Merlin before Nimueh's blasted spell had never leant against the doorframe with such a provocative air, nor smiled with such a predatory twist.

Gaius is reminded, somewhat perplexingly, of Arthur.

"Where did you go?" The prince's back is facing him, but his tone is enough to tell Gaius all he needs to know. Anger, annoyance and worry blend seamlessly into a hot possessiveness that should make Gaius feel uncomfortable, and should definitely make Merlin uncomfortable and bemused, like every other thing Arthur does always seems to.

It does neither.

It makes several things fall into place for Gaius, and it makes Merlin's grin just a little sharper. He knows what's going on, that much is obvious, and the tilt of his hips as he pushes away from the doorframe only encourages it. Arthur takes a step forward, making Gaius think he should vacate swiftly for the sake of his poor old eyes - and then, with one of her customary flourishes, Morgana interrupts.

"Gaius, have you- oh, Arthur, there you are." She appears oblivious to the tension between the two boys; Gaius reconsiders the strength of her gifts. "Uther wants to see you, about the business with Lord Kynan."

She's gone in a flash of silks, and Merlin lifts an eyebrow. "You didn't really kill him, did you?"

"Like I'd waste a spear on him." Gaius is glad to see Arthur keeps his hands to himself as he passes Merlin on his way out. "You're to come with me, obviously."

"Obviously, _sire_."

The honorific has probably never sounded so dirty.

—-

"In light of your conduct this afternoon, my lord, I can say without doubt that you are much reduced in my estimation." Uther is in full regal mode, lips pressed tightly together and holding court like only he can. "I am not entirely certain that Camelot wishes to make treaties with someone who has so little honour."

Arthur leans against his favourite pillar and hopes that Merlin doesn't step near to ask what the hell is going on. That he doesn't is fairly worrying in itself; it means he's most likely guessed, and is saving his comments for when he can safely call Arthur prat and get away with it. Arthur attempts to focus on what his father is saying and ignores Merlin, just visible in his peripheral vision.

This becomes a lot more difficult when Merlin moves, now entirely visible and entirely too tempting for Arthur's self-control. He's in his old- no, his _normal_ clothes, the customary scarf making Arthur long to find out if Merlin's neck still bears the wide bruise he'd taken such pleasure in putting there. Uther condemns (in a non 'this will lead to pain' way) Lord Kynan, and Merlin folds his hands behind his back, his fingers laced through each other.

Arthur swallows heavily at the remembrance of those fingers on his skin, and hastily looks away. Now is not the time to remember what those long, clever fingers can do, except it really is, because Merlin shifts to wrap those selfsame fingers around his wrists, holding them exactly as Arthur had last night, and it's- Uther just called his name.

Arthur wrenches his mind away from Merlin and looks up - to meet Merlin's innocent gaze. Blue eyes meet clear brown, and Uther beckons him forward. "Yes, father?"

"I am right in saying that the maid in question has left Camelot?" _No,_ Arthur wants to say, _she_‘_s still here, just not, and is licking her lips in an attempt to destroy my sanity._

"Yes," he says instead, resolving to punish Merlin most severely for this. At that thought a memory of Merlin on the ledge in the dragon's cave returns to him, wrists held out for the shackles. It makes his blood heat and start to travel lower, and Merlin _knows_ because his eyes darken and his smile turns just a little sharper.

Apparently that's all his father wanted; Uther's moved on to verbally tear Lord Kynan into pieces, and literally tear the treaty up. Arthur spares a brief thought for Ceridwen but carefully doesn't look her way; marriageable age or not, she's nowhere near ready to catch what he knows must be in his eyes right now.

He turns it on Merlin instead, and gets a very satisfactory widening of the warlock's (oh, how that sends a shiver up his spine) eyes.

"We shall meet again to discuss a treaty when you have learnt civility and respect for the customs of my land; treating a serving girl, especially that of Prince Arthur, as a common whore is not tolerated, and neither is starting a brawl with my son in the middle of a hunting foray. Take your knights and leave; we shall meet again in one year."

"Your majesty." Arthur takes probably too much enjoyment of knowing Lord Kynan can't bow properly because he landed a particularly vicious blow to the lord's ribcage, and that the black eye won't go down for at least two weeks - plenty of time for him to be back in his own estates, and for all to see the results of his diplomatic mission.

"The mercenaries stay." Uther's voice is like a whipcrack. Lord Kynan doesn't bother protesting, simply cuts a look of hatred in Arthur's direction as he gestures for the men to remain in the hall as he and his retinue of bound knights exit.

Uther stands, signalling an end to the meeting as he nods for his clerk to see to the mercenaries. They troop out as one body, and Arthur can't help but look at them with the eyes of a man who will have to train them into a proper fighting force.

"Merlin." Uther's voice snaps him back, makes him automatically stand straighter even though he isn't being addressed. Merlin steps closer and waits, close enough to Arthur that he can look like a deferential servant but still drive Arthur mad with the heat of his body. "I trust all is well in Ealdor?"

Merlin nearly laughs at the repetition. "Yes, your majesty."

"And your cousin? I notice you are here and she is not."

"She left early this afternoon, your majesty; I returned late this morning. No sense in wasting daylight, after all."

Arthur bites down on his laughter. For all Merlin claims he can't lie, he sure knows how to edit the truth when he wants to. Uther nods, something approaching a smile on his face. "I must say, it is good to see you back here. For one thing it's more appropriate a situation for my son" they both bite down on laughter at that, "and for another life seems to be more... interesting when you're around, Merlin."

"Of course, your majesty." Merlin grins and bows in a way he never bothers to for Arthur. He prays that's it, that he can finally drag Merlin off somewhere and make sure that this Merlin is truly as well as he claims he is.

Either his father can read his mind and wants him to never have any pleasure, or he's utterly oblivious to the tension between them.

On second thoughts, Arthur hopes it's the latter.

"Good. Now, Arthur, you should prepare for the feast."

"You're going ahead with it?"

Uther looks up from the papers that he has returned to, frowning slightly. "Of course. It's a harvest celebration, regardless of whether Lord Kynan is here or not."

"Right, of course."

—-  
If he'd thought the previous night's feast was bad, then this one is excruciating. They hadn't spoken at all when getting Arthur ready by unspoken assent; for his part, Arthur knows that if Merlin had said anything he would've been flat against the nearest wall (yes, okay, he has a thing about doing that), and they never would have made it to the feast.

It's almost mocking in it's repetitiveness. He sits through toast after toast from visiting nobles that haven't been disgraced, listens to interminably boring conversations with ladies he wishes would stop flirting and grow old gracefully, dances with a quietly smug Morgana - who still hasn't asked for her favour, worryingly - and sits through yet more conversations with court maidens who pale in comparison to the boy talking with Gwen at the other end of the room.

Arthur circles round as soon as is polite, stepping behind Merlin and relishing the shiver that runs through him when Arthur speaks. "Does this all seem a little..."

"Samey?"

"I was going to say repetitive, but why use a long word when you can make one up." Merlin grins, turning under the pretext of offering him a goblet of wine. His eyes offer something different, though, and Arthur fights down his rising arousal.

"Arthur." Uther can still move as quietly as a hunter when he needs to, which seems to amount to when he wants to interrupt a moment rapidly falling into the nearest gutter. "You can leave if you want to, you've done your duty."

Arthur doesn't bother with a show of deference; Uther's eyes have passed over them, his sharp mind seeing and understanding what they've only just begun to piece together. His dismissal is more than a release for the Prince; it's his approval for the boy.

Arthur waits for any further words, suppresses a completely undignified shout of victory (that's _not _stupid, no matter what Merlin thinks) when his father turns away to talk to some other noble. His pace is fast but not hurried as he makes his way to his chambers, Merlin matching him step for step.

Merlin doesn't bother complaining about being pressed against the door this time, letting Arthur pin him with hips and strong hands, lips and teeth clashing. It's not the same as before, last night and that morning, and it takes Arthur's breath away. Well, what little he has left from their kisses, that is.

"You don't have to be careful, you know," says Merlin breathlessly, "I'm fine."

Arthur pulls back from where he was pressing kisses against Merlin's (stronger) jaw and looks at him. "You were a _girl_ this morning."

"And now I'm not. Funny how magic works, isn't it." He tilts his hips, presses forward a little, and ohhh, Arthur definitely wants to explore this Merlin as much as he had the other one. He resists pushing back like he wants to, sticks with rolling his hips a little and watching Merlin's eyes go glassy.

"You still might be-"

"Arthur. I am **not** a girl. Again. And I'm not fragile; I'm not going to sodding break."

"But-" Why, why, _why_ is he arguing? Merlin may have been right about his noble moments.

"If you don't fuck me, or do something equally good, then I will find someone who will. Sir Gawain might-" Arthur knows Merlin knows what he's doing, playing on Arthur's newly discovered (or at least newly accepted) possessiveness, and shuts him up with a hard kiss before he makes it any worse. Merlin gives as good as he gets, matching Arthur's force with enough of his own that Arthur automatically shoves him just a little harder against the damn door.

Merlin makes a small sound into Arthur's mouth, hands tightening almost to the point of pain in his hair, and Arthur breaks away, panting. Merlin looks thoroughly debauched, (flat) chest heaving as he tries to move his hips. Arthur glances down, unable to help himself.

Merlin is most definitely male again, and Arthur has his hips pushed hard against the wood with an iron grip formed from being trained to kill since birth. He looks up to see Merlin watching him with an almost hungry expression.

Arthur smirks. "You're not getting me on my knees again." Total lie, and Merlin knows it.

"Is that so?" Merlin shifts, hooks his foot behind Arthur's leg, and he really should've seen that one coming as he stumbles forward to end up pressed against Merlin from chest to toe, the most wonderful friction building as Merlin gently moves his hips. "I think you could be persuaded."

He really can be.

Clothes literally remove themselves from his body, and holy gods he's going to have to get Merlin to do a **lot** of magic in front of him, because if they're ever in a combat situation and he sees those eyes flickering gold, well. He definitely won't be concentrating on the right things, that's for sure.

Merlin walks him backwards while he's still lost in the shimmer of magic, back until Arthur's knees hit the edge of the bed and he ends up on his back with a lapful of Merlin. "This is possibly the best feast I've ever been to."

Merlin quirks an eyebrow, utters syllables that make it impossible for Arthur to keep thinking straight as he's pulled until his head hits the pillows, body stretched out and feeling like he's on display. Which he is, in a way; Merlin crawls until he's braced over Arthur, eyes hot and dark as they take in the view.

"Why," asks Arthur lowly, pulling Merlin close by the simple method of a hand behind his neck, "are you still dressed? I'm sure it's a crime to be dressed while I'm not."

"Is that so?" Merlin leans down for the briefest of kisses, palm improbably cool against Arthur's cheek. The rustle of coarse cloth and the startling sensation of rough friction against certain... sensitive parts of Arthur makes him gasp sharply. Merlin sniggers. "What, you don't like it?"

"You, besides being a shite servant, are a bloody tease," accuses Arthur, the words lifting into breathlessness at the end as Merlin's hand wraps around his cock. Cool fingers on hot skin feels so wonderful Arthur can't see for a moment, vision going white as his eyes roll back. Merlin's hand is slow and teasing, as if Arthur expected anything else after saying that, and it makes him drag Merlin down for a kiss so he doesn't give in to the begging words gathering at the back of his throat.

Merlin grins against his mouth, takes his hand away and trails his fingers up to flick over Arthur's nipples, as talented as he'd been before but more sure of himself. Arthur forces his eyes open, and stares in unashamed possessiveness at the sight in front of him.

Pale skin covering lean muscles that he takes a private pride in, because without Arthur forcing Merlin to train he wouldn't have this whipcord strength to him that allows him to resist, even for a moment, the hands Arthur wraps around his upper arms to drag him down. They lie flush against each other, time and their kisses slowing down as they learn this with a slightly different way of fitting together.

Arthur grins at the canopy of his bed as a thought strikes him, Merlin intent on wringing shivers and moans from him by biting his way along Arthur's collarbones. He gathers enough of his mind together to ask: "So, I could order you to do your chores without magic now, right?"

Merlin does something with his hips that makes Arthur's vision go blurry at the edges, and sits back. "You could. But why," he asks, eyes flashing gold, "would you want to when magic has _so_ many uses?"

Arthur is not surprised when he tries to sit up and can't. "You consider me a chore?" he asks instead of struggling. Merlin doesn't reply, simply tilts his head and bites his lip. "Merlin, come on, let me up."

"But this is so much more fun."

"I am _ordering_ you to let me go, and as I'm the prince and not you, you have to obey." It's never worked before, never has done, and doesn't work now. Merlin slides down the bed, propping himself between Arthur's legs, arms resting along his thighs and hands tight on Arthur's hips. Arthur does not whimper, because that would be undignified.

"And you're in a position to be giving orders, are you?" Arthur never gets a chance to answer, because Merlin's mouth is on his cock, hot and wet and Arthur is going to _kill_ whoever taught Merlin how to do this because it's not fair that someone got to feel it first, got Merlin first.

Merlin slides his mouth off with an obscene noise. "Stop working out how to kill whoever taught me this." There's an edge to his voice that Arthur simultaneously wants to hear over and over, and never wants to hear again, because it tells him that the person is already dead. Merlin's luscious mouth closes over him again, and the feeling of his throat as he takes Arthur's cock all the way in is almost enough to make the prince damn near _sob._

It's wonderful and perfect and everything Arthur needs after being wound so tightly by Merlin through the feast, but then Merlin stops. A modicum of coherency returns to Arthur as Merlin crawls back up to kneel over him, so close but not quite touching.

"You've stopped," says Arthur accusingly. Merlin's grin is wicked as he tilts his head questioningly.

"I'm sorry, sire," he draws the word out. Arthur shivers. "I thought, maybe, you'd like to try the request I made earlier."

Arthur struggles to remember, but it's in vain. He glares wordlessly at Merlin, still a teasing distance away. At least, he is until he moves a leg between Arthur's and presses up. Arthur's groan is choked off as Merlin leans down to whisper in his ear: "I told you to fuck me."

Whether by design or by virtue of feeling as overwhelmed as Arthur does, as he speaks the words Merlin releases the hold his magic has on Arthur - who blesses his reflexes as they allow him to have Merlin on his back within seconds of being able to move again.

"This feels familiar." Arthur grins down at Merlin, twisting his hips to watch Merlin flush and feel him shudder.

There's something to be said for a straightforward approach; Merlin's eyes spark gold and a pot of oil Arthur forgets the original use of lifts itself from its place and hovers insistently by Merlin's shoulder. Arthur raises an eyebrow as he pushes Merlin's legs apart, reaching for the pot which has helpfully removed its lid.

"I'm probably," gasps Merlin as Arthur's finger press against and into him, "the only person who can compare—_more, please, **more**_," his mouth opens wide in a silent cry as Arthur pushes another finger in, staring down at Merlin with a hot possessiveness in his eyes that's only been fueled by the display of magic, "what you're like when bedding a man and a woman" Arthur tries for three fingers and growls at the implications when Merlin takes them easily, biting sharply at his collarbone, "from firsthand experience, _Arthur please._"

It goes like so many other situations of this sort have gone before; Merlin takes Arthur's hard thrusts with a sharp gasp and long fingers pressing against Arthur's back, keeping him close for burning kisses. He encourages Arthur with rough words, only some of which are understandable and some of which add to the thickening atmosphere of magic around them.

Arthur lifts his head from nipping at Merlin's neck long enough to ask "you're not going to set the bed on fire, are you?" in a strained voice. Merlin doesn't answer him directly, whispers a spell that takes what he's feeling and loops it to Arthur, a useful spell on its own but right now...it's priceless.

The magic, and accompanying flash in Merlin's eyes, makes Arthur groan and pull Merlin's legs higher around his hips, one hand left to support him as the other slide between them to firmly slide his hand along Merlin's dick and send him shuddering over the edge that Arthur can see looming.

Merlin's hands stay tight on his back as his hips stutter and he loses the rhythm, heedless of causing pain as he bites down on Merlin's shoulder to muffle the hoarse scream lodged in his throat. Merlin speaks, another spell or nonsense words, Arthur _doesn_‘_t care_, but it tips him over and sends him into blinding ecstasy.

He feels far too many hands tilt him to one side as he shakily lowers himself down, and Arthur dredges up a shiver at yet another flash of gold in the corner of his rapidly blurring vision. Merlin makes a small sound of satiation and contentment when Arthur drapes himself over him, wrapping himself around Merlin.

Merlin relishes the blissful feeling of being absolutely fucked out and follows Arthur into sleep; there'll be time for talk in the morning.

_Later_ in the morning, if the last time they did this was any indication.

—-Arthur wakes with the dawn again, and finds Merlin in his bed for the second time in as many days. This time, though, he's already awake, sitting up. He turns and glances down at Arthur, smile wide and happy. "Morning, lazy."

"Mmm." Arthur stretches languidly. "I'm allowed to be. What are you doing?"

"Being me."

"I'm a little worried that I know exactly what you mean." Merlin settles back as Arthur sits up and shifts forward to lean against his back, resting his head on Merlin's bare shoulder. "Shouldn't you be out of bed by now? You've got chores to do."

"I don't have to get out of bed to do them, though, unless you order me not to use magic." Arthur shivers at the idea of more magic, morning hardness increasing somewhat. Merlin laughs. "I can see we're going to have to work on that. Not exactly the ideal reaction if you see me using magic to aid in a battle."

"Use it now," Arthur says, lips moving against the vivid bitemark on Merlin's shoulder from last night. It sits an inch or two below the mark Arthur had made on Merlin's neck a bare two days ago. Arthur finds he likes the brands. He wraps his arms around Merlin's waist and flicks his tongue over them in turn before returning to rest his chin on a pale shoulder.

"As you desire, my lord." Gods, Merlin makes even the simplest of obediences seem filthy. His hand raises, palm facing the room at large, and the gravelly syllables spill from his tongue and slide down Arthur's spine.

Clothes jump into the air, stains and creases vanishing slowly before they fold themselves and return to chests and wardrobes. The remains of many meals turn to dust and are tilted by their plates into the fire that yet again has burnt through the night, aided by magic. Candles trim themselves and unsightly dribbles of wax remove themselves.

By the time the room is at the state of cleanliness Arthur has come to expect when Merlin does eventually get his act together he's shaking with trying to control the urge to tip Merlin forward and take him on his hands and knees, making him face the evidence of what his magic can do and feeling what it does to Arthur.

Arthur whispers what he wants to do, and more, into Merlin's ear as his hands glide over smooth skin and dip under the sheets pooled around Merlin's waist.

Merlin's voice still holds some of the roughness Arthur irrevocably associates with magic when he reaches back to wrap his hand behind Arthur's neck and make another suggestion.

Arthur gets fucked to the sounds of his armour cleaning itself.

—-

One remarkably quiet (in public, at least; Arthur's bedchamber is another matter) week later Morgana pulls Merlin into her rooms. She's pallid instead of pale, surpassing even Merlin's untanned complexion, and looks less polished than usual.

"I need to tell you something," she begins, looking uncharacteristically nervous. Merlin feels the first stirrings of unease; she doesn't tend to be hesitant like this, wearing her emotions clearly. "But I need to know you won't think any differently of me once I do."

They're almost exactly the same words Merlin had rehearsed for when he told Arthur about his own magic, before Nimueh had negated the need for such things as words. He reaches out and places his hands over hers, stopping her twisting the trailing sleeve of her dress into a wreck that will make Gwen cry.

"Morgana, whatever you say, I will not think anything less of you." Merlin swallows hard. "I only ask that you do the same for me." Her eyes are penetratingly bright when she looks at him, and he can practically hear the pieces falling into place for her.

She nods decisively and clasps his hands with hers. "I dreamt of you. In the woods, a hollow darkened and fouled by evil magic. There was a woman - a sorceress - and a cave. She waits and schemes, planning for your death." Her voice grows increasingly desperate. "Merlin, I saw you enter the hollow and die by her magic. You could not defend yourself."

"Did you see why not?"

"Some spell; I don't know the nature of it." She looks at him, scared but defiant. "I would not have told you this, because I know you will travel there, but something told me I must."

Merlin nods, smiling wryly. "It's probably something to do with my Destiny."

"Ah. Destiny. That old thing." They share a smile that borders on amusement, then Merlin bows over their hands. Morgana sighs. "You go there now?"

"Best to get it over with."

"If you don't tell Arthur he won't forgive you, however small such a thing may seem to you."

"Then I'll be leaving tomorrow; there's that damn feast tonight. How many feasts do you need to celebrate Harvest, anyway?"

Morgana rolls her eyes. "Two too many, by my reckoning, but Uther likes a show."

She hugs Merlin briefly before he leaves, her dark eyes the only thing showing her worries about his plans. Merlin smiles as cheerfully as he can manage and goes to find Arthur to tell him, without mentioning Morgana, about Nimueh.

—-

Arthur refuses point blank to go to the feast. He tells his father in no uncertain terms that he won't be attending, to which Uther apparently replies with an understanding nod and a reminder to be prompt to morning training. Merlin has to take Arthur's word for it, because the prince had stormed out of the room and gone before Merlin could even blink.

They ride out at dusk when anyone who would raise questions is inside and occupied with the first course; the people of the town don't spare the Crown Prince and his manservant a second glance, even if they are leaving when Arthur should be in his seat next to Uther.

Merlin's riding has improved enough for them to set a fast pace through the trees even in the dark, and for once Arthur can't make a comment about Merlin's abysmal navigational skills because he gives him no chance to; even allowing for the effect of time on his memories of the path Gwen and he had taken to the hollow three months ago, Merlin unerringly leads them to it.

It's obvious they're near the right place after an hour of riding. The waves of dark magic emanating from the cave Merlin can barely distinguish as a darker patch of blackness in the cliff bordering one edge of the hollow make him feel nauseous, to the extent that he has to lean over the side of his saddle to retch.

"Merlin?" Arthur's hand is warm on his back, comforting and grounding.

"Can't you feel that?"

Arthur looks ahead, concentrating. After a pause he replies: "What the hell is that?" He straightens his shoulders, missing the weight of his armour. "It's like... slime, crawling over my skin."

"Dark magic." Merlin spits, tries to clear his mouth of the taste of it. "Remember how it feels; it'll help you tell the difference in the future." He sounds different even to himself, sure and strong in a way he rarely feels, let alone sounds. Arthur's expression is dark, angry and something more private.

"It didn't feel like this the other night."

"That's because it was only a tiny thread, outweighed by my own magic and that of the dragon." Arthur nods and starts to dismount. "Arthur, no."

"I'm coming with you."

"I have to do this on my own-"

"Because of your sodding Destiny?" The last of the light faded as they entered the thicker foliage of the oldest part of the forest, and it's as hard to see Arthur as it is to see the cave. Nevertheless, Merlin can just make out the angry set of his jaw.

"No, because of my sodding pride. I'm sure you understand that," snaps Merlin, then wishes he hadn't. Arthur's horse whinnies softly and skitters as he unconsciously tightens the reins. Merlin waits; he won't go to his possible death with anger the last emotion expressed. At last Arthur sighs.

"Alright. But here, take this." He pulls his long dagger free of its sheath and hands it to Merlin hilt first, fingers confident and capable even so close to the perilous blade. "You said she'd have a spell waiting for you, so she clearly has some faith in your sorcery. She probably won't have any in your combat skills, so this might-" Arthur cuts himself off, but Merlin knows what he was about to say.

_This might help you last a little longer._

Merlin takes it carefully and nods, holding it well out of the way as he dismounts. Tendrils of foul magic curl curiously around him then withdraw sharply; Nimueh knows he's here. The creaking of leather and faint jangling of a harness makes him turn to see Arthur striding towards him.

Merlin flails as Arthur kisses him hard, momentarily worried about the dagger in his hand until Arthur wraps a hand around his wrist and keeps it firmly by his side. Merlin curves his other hand over Arthur's hip, pulling him close as Arthur does the same thing with Merlin's neck. They break apart, panting, and Arthur steps back jerkily.

"Go. I'll wait here."

Merlin hesitates, but after the struggle he had to get Arthur to leave when he was changing back knows it's a lost cause to try and make Arthur get to a safe distance just in case. Instead he nods, feeling far more like the warlock the dragon insists he is to become than he ever has before.

Heading down into the hollow proper, and to the threshold of the cave is easy, but once he reaches the entrance he starts to feel weighed down, as if he's walking through air as thick as Arthur's last attempt at making porridge. He has to force his legs to keep moving and step into the cave, but when he does his magic-

Stops.

Merlin halts, hands gripping the dagger's hilt so tightly pain shoots up his arm. He shuts his eyes and tries to remember anything the dragon has said about sensing the magic within him, a laughable concept when he was in that other cave, but here and now it provides a slight measure of hope.

A few moments later, in which his hatred of Nimueh and her methods coalesces into more manageable and useful contempt, Merlin finally feels the faint stirrings of his powers. They're not gone, as he'd feared, but dampened down like a charcoal fire. He can't undo whatever it is that Nimueh has done, hasn't the training.

He's got no choice but to continue without his magic, as she had planned.

Merlin's not a coward, whatever accusations Arthur may once have thrown at him, so he presses on down the rock tunnel, heading towards the source of dark magic that he can still (sadly) feel against his skin and taste at the back of his throat.

—-

Nimueh is waiting for him when he rounds the final twist and reaches the inner chamber of the cave. It's not natural, the smoothness of the walls and the carvings on them making that much evident as soon as he walks in. The taint of magic extends to the rock itself in here, surrounding Merlin in a cocoon of wrongness that makes him want to gag.

The sorceress is standing behind a tall pillar of rock that Merlin would liken to the font of a church if it were not such a patently ridiculous comparison, scarlet mouth curving into a mocking smile. "Emrys." She bows her head in faint tribute.

"Nimueh."

"What brings you here, when you knew what I had prepared?" She trails her fingers through the water in the cradle of stone in front of her, a clear threat that she was, and will always be, watching him.

"You know why."

"The young Pendragon, yes." Her words match the dragon's, but where his were grudgingly respectful, bordering on fond, Nimueh's are derisive. "Are you really willing to risk your life in an attempt to make me pay for trying to get my revenge?" Merlin stays silent, keeping the dagger out of sight in the shadows behind him. "You could join me, you know."

"Become like you?"

Nimueh smiles, steps around the rock pillar and walks slowly towards him. "And what is so wrong with that? We both know I am not your match in terms of raw power, but when it comes to knowing what to do with that power I am by far your superior." She's close now, standing just out of striking distance to raise her arms to her sides and increase the magic in the air.

"I could teach you, train you to be the most powerful warlock this land has ever seen. You could rule, Merlin; you could make it so that we magic users would not have to hide and skulk in the shadows anymore."

"And the price?" Merlin yells, "The price I pay, what would that be?"

"Knowledge is worth any price," she returns, voice low and filled with power that makes Merlin's knees weak and his head throb. "It is worth the deaths of the Pendragons and their oppressive laws. Their deaths will be the start of a new reign, the reign of magic!"

A rumbling fills the cave, the sound of powerful sorcery being wrought. Merlin pulls together the last of his strength, thinking of Arthur out in the forest, waiting for him, and strikes.

The dagger slashes at Nimueh's arm, makes her cry out and look at him with eyes that are practically all pupil. Merlin lashes out again, driving her back into the centre of the cave with a series of jabs that Arthur had taught him in the hope that Merlin would be able to hold off an attacker long enough for Arthur to reach him.

The pain of Merlin's unexpected attack weakens Nimueh's hold on her spells, freeing Merlin's magic in an intense flood. He reaches for it, trying to think of something, anything, that he can do to stop her. She's recovering from the first shock, gathering her power and preparing to strike back.

He won't let her, not this time.

"You _will not_" he shouts, the rock reverberating with the magic in his voice, "_kill Arthur._ Not while I am here to protect him."

With that, he pulls down the ceiling of the cave.

Tons of rock grind and tremble, caught above their heads by Merlin's magic for a brief moment. Then they come thundering down, Merlin making sure to direct a few boulders specifically onto the rock bowl she used to spy on them all. Nimueh throws up a hasty barrier, protecting herself from the worst of the fall, but Merlin can see weaknesses in it and know it's not going to last long.

He scrambles back to the tunnel, his own instinctive shield holding thanks to the adrenaline fuelling his hold on his magic. Behind him Nimueh's screams blend with the screeching of rock against rock, the sounds and smaller falls following him out of the tunnel and across the hollow. Merlin stumbles, reaches out a hand to break his fall but is not surprised to find himself caught and held by strong arms instead.

They stand together and watch a plume of stone dust billow out of the rapidly disappearing cave entrance, Nimueh's exhortations of rage and fragments of spells cut off as the cave finally vanishes with a final ground-shaking rumble. Arthur's arm is almost painfully tight around Merlin's waist, but it feels _right._

"That was actually pretty impressive." Arthur's voice shakes enough to show the major understatement of his comment. Merlin grins.

"Glad you liked it. I'm not completely incompetent, you know."

"I'm learning." Arthur pulls Merlin round to face him, eyes faint spots of white in the darkness. "Can you give us some light?"

"Would a glowing ball of blue magic-stuff be okay?"

"More than." Merlin flicks his fingers, the magic leaping to form an orb bright enough to see as if it's still daytime. Arthur is looking at him, eyes searching his face as soon as the glow hits it. Warm fingers trace feather-light over his face, looking for cuts that aren't there, trailing down his face to brush over his lips. Arthur pauses, fingers pressed so barely against Merlin's lower lip that he can only just feel it.

"You're an idiot," he says softly, eyes never leaving Merlin's, "going in there like that. If you'd died-" He can't carry that on any further, can't make that admission.

At least, not yet.

Merlin saves him further agony by pulling back enough to hand Arthur the dagger he'd miraculously managed to keep hold of. "Yet again, it's your fault that I'm alive. This came in very useful."

Arthur stares at it for a long moment, running a fingertip along the top of one of the edges. Merlin knows what has him frowning; there's no blood on it, even though Nimueh had bled freely from her wounds. He slides it back into it's sheath, shoulders relaxing.

"We should return to Camelot." He casts a look toward what was once a cave, still exuding the odd boom as the rock settles. "Is it safe to leave this as it is?"

"As safe as it ever is to leave a fresh rockfall." Arthur rolls his eyes. "If she's alive, she can't get out. Whatever power she had stored in the rocks has gone, broken with the cave. She's got no powers other than what she has inside her, and from what I could tell that wasn't much."

"Fine. We'll come back and see in daylight."

Arthur guides them to the horses, which he'd had to move further back for fear that they would bolt when the first rumbles of falling rock had begun. Merlin pauses with one hand on his saddle, looking back. "I think I know a binding spell that might lock her in there; I'll have to ask Gaius, but I'm fairly certain it'll work."

"Good," says Arthur with a grunt, swinging himself into his own saddle. "The less we see of that witch, the better."

They ride for a while, the blue light bobbing gently in front of them with just enough light to ensure they stay on the path and don't hit any trees. Merlin lets them put some distance between themselves and the cave before asking a question.

"Will you miss me being a girl?"

Arthur glances swiftly at him, then returns his gaze to the ground in front. The corners of his mouth twitch slightly as he answers. "Not especially. I prefer this you. Although," he adds with a teasing note, "you as a girl did seem to be a much better servant. I liked that."

"Is that all you liked, sire?" Even at a mild distance and while riding a horse Merlin can see the shiver that runs through Arthur at the way he says the title.

"_No,_ and you know it."

"Oh good. Because I know a spell that'll turn me into a girl again - temporarily, thank the gods - and I thought it'd be fun to try." Merlin refrains from mentioning he's already tried it; somehow, he imagines that his childish use of the incantation to even the numbers at the May Day dance won't compare to his use of it now.

"Fun. Of course." Arthur sounds strangled, kicking his horse into a faster trot. Merlin grins, the blue light giving it a devilish look.

The ride passes in silence, Merlin leaving Arthur to his no doubt entertaining thoughts.

—-

Whatever Arthur tells his father about their late-night excursion, it involves something of what occurred with Nimueh, because the next morning Merlin is summoned to see the king.

Uther sits in his throne, the great hall ringed with clerks and petitioners hoping for him to solve various petty disputes. Merlin follows Gaius to stand by the king's side, the physician waiting for a lull in the clamour of noise to clear his throat and motion Merlin forward. Uther looks at him consideringly.

"My son has informed me of your bravery when attacked by the sorceress last night." He avoids her name, Merlin notes not for the first time and longs to know why. "I refrained from asking him what the two of you were doing out so late, and on a feast-night too; I have the feeling I would like the answer as much as I like the thought of that woman in my lands again."

Merlin swallows and hopes nothing shows on his face. Uther continues.

"I, like my son, commend your bravery in luring her into an unstable cave. Such an act has most likely rid Albion of a sincere menace, and will not go unrewarded." Merlin thinks back to the last time he was awarded for his bravery and coughs nervously.

"That's really not necessary, your majesty. I just acted as I thought best."

"And saved this kingdom in the process." Well, he can't exactly argue there, _knowledge is worth any price, worth the deaths of the Pendragons and their oppressive laws. Their deaths will be the start of a new reign, the reign of magic _appearing in his mind like a particularly gruesome echo. "Consider what you would like, and return when you have an answer."

He's dismissed with a wave of one regal hand, and follows Gaius back to their chambers.

Gaius seats himself behind a merrily bubbling bowl of something Merlin really _doesn_‘_t_ want to know the exact ingredients of, and eyes him. "What?"

"I'm wondering what you're going to ask for."

Merlin thinks about it, absently setting the jars of potion ingredients to tidy themselves away onto the right shelves as he replaces books and clears the table of general detritus around where Gaius is working. He thinks about the dragon's predictions of a glorious destiny, thinks about the thread of reluctant respect that had crept into Nimueh's voice when she had spoken about the strength of his powers.

Then he hears the distant sound of Arthur in the courtyard below, voice raised as he drills his knights, and thinks about them, the things they've done to each other, the things they will do to each other, and the things they will achieve.

He thinks about the magic he has yet to show Arthur, what it can do, what it already does to the prince, and how much more it's going to do.

He thinks about _Merlin _and_ Arthur_, and turns to smile at a waiting Gaius.

"Nothing. I've already got everything I want."

 

 


End file.
